Back from the Edge
by Joby87
Summary: AU ending to Swan Song. Short multi-chapter fic. Sam's still in Hell and Dean more than anything wants his brother back as is. Only what happens when he gets his wish? Freaked out/Big brother Dean. Catatonic/Psychic Sam. Cass is back!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Back from the Edge

**Began:** May 2010

**Synopsis:** Tag to Swan Song. Sam's still in Hell and Dean suddenly feels he can't live the cookie cutter life anymore. More than anything he wants his brother back as is…but what happens when his prayers are finally answered, and he received more than he bargained for. Freaked out Dean. Catatonic, psychic Sam.

**A/N:** I was so choked up at the end of season five that I decided to do an alternate ending. This little plot bunny just wouldn't leave well-enough alone, so yeah? What the heck! It's the usual…y'know, cruel and unusual torture. But it somewhat has a different spin on things. I really needed a brotherly moment after that episode, and felt that it shouldn't have left things the way it did. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thought that.

Just FYI, Sam is still in Hell for this story. He wasn't standing beneath that lamplight outside of Lisa's house for this. For reasons, you'll see why. This is me we're talking about, need I explain?

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

~o(Supernatural)o~

The night air was chilly, dewy, yet laden with a hint of honeysuckles. The sky was clear, freckled with countless dazzling white dots against a midnight blue veil, vast and unfathomable to the human mind. Life all around was inert, still, seemingly without a purpose. Perfect for the lonely soul wandering aimlessly in the wet anemic cemetery, laggardly dragging his heels, searching for the one and only spot he ventured to on a nightly basis.

Sometime later, the figure at last had found his place of sanctuary—the place that he felt kept and harbored the last remaining part of his soul—the one and only place he had left…his family. Strength failed in his quivering legs and his knees promptly fell into the sodden grass. Watery, beseeching mossy green eyes solemnly looked to the two tombstone slabs in front of him, and his face scrunched in distraught.

"Please…just give me back my brother," he said.

His eyes, scarred, dull, and lifeless as a testament of the hardship from the years, now found their way towards the twinkling stars.

The man hesitated, breathing fast. He licked his dry lips before saying out loud, "Please. I know I've asked and I know I don't deserve it. But…" his lip trembled, "Please. Just give him back."

Seldom Dean Winchester ever begged. Very rarely had he beg to anyone in the short span of his entire life; the one and only person being his little brother to whom Dean pleaded not to leave before he left for college. Begging was an act frowned upon in the Winchester family, classified as a substantial weakness. Weakness, even in the smallest form, was costly in the hunting realm, having irreparable and devastating consequences that no hunter was willing to risk. And Winchesters were never weak.

So it surprised even him to be out every night, at the same spot, on his knees, begging to the stars for the same thing. Constantly asking, praying, beseeching help to no one in particular but the Almighty himself, and yet the answer was still the same…silence.

He had a family waiting at home, several states away, probably pacing the floor, worried that this time he may not return. Never before would Dean leave them to come out for too long, but recently he hasn't been himself. Falling apart in booze and sleepless nights, unable to keep his job as the local mechanic, Dean eventually drifted away, surprisingly coming to the place where it all started…and ended.

"I tried. I really did," Dean's cracked and raspy voice whispered. "He made me promise and I've tried to do it. But…" he sighed, "The guilt is just killing me."

Dark wet spots formed at the base of his knees, soaking up most of his pant legs the longer he sat on the sodden earth.

"How could he think…why would he think that I would just move on like nothing happened, live the manicured lawn life knowing that he's in Hell. Suffering. Rotting away like me. And with the Devil? He's probably worse off than I was. I don't…I just...I don't even know what's happening to him, and it's all my fault."

Hot tears steadily began making their way down his leathery face thinking back to that horrendous day. He could remember like it was yesterday. It was a Thursday. Around noon in Stull's cemetery back in Lawrence. The sun was high, baking them all to a crisp, probably as a farewell knowing the Earth was doomed to die that very hour. There wasn't a peep from any living critter, except the once ominous caw of a crow. There were no songs or joys. There wasn't even wind…just death.

The fear and gut wrenching shock he felt in watching Sam give his consent for the Fallen Angel to possess his body, the anguish tearing at his heart in conversing with the man that no longer was his brother forever crippled his core. The suicidal blow to his soul in watching his baby brother sacrifice himself—having gained control back over his body— with arms fanned out like a swan fell backwards into the pit of Hell, locking away the Devil for eternity once more, thus saving the world from a horrible and fiery fate.

All of Dean's life had been ordained to care for his sibling—raise him, show him the ropes to life and adulthood, protect and shield him from the crazy and hazardous happenings of the chaotic humanoid world. He tried so hard, forever running himself into the ground, tearing himself into little confetti-like pieces in carrying out the impossible task…only to fail in that respect…ultimately letting down his last promise to his father.

_Save him. _

The moment Sam died, a part of Dean died too.

The world was saved. Lucifer and his brother Archangel Michael were trapped in Hell and the Apocalypse was averted. Dean had forever cursed himself in allowing Sam to take on the Devil, to make the choice of jumping in the opened doorway. It went against every fiber he had, and still he did nothing, in want of respecting his brother and the man he had become.

Now-a-days, Dean wished that he could take back the _promise_ he made to Sam. It was killing him inside in attempting to enjoy the life he and his brother always wanted. Luckily for him, Lisa and her son Ben –the family that once stole his heart away, and since then has been the epitome of the life away from hunting-were, in fact, dumb enough to take him in. They allowed him in with open arms and have been his crutch in establishing a new life of his own.

Only now he seemed to have fallen again.

For three glorious years, it was nothing but baseball games, barbecues, and the one too many parent-teacher conferences about fighting. It was sweet while it lasted. Lisa, with that dazzling smile and florid cheeks, made him feel like a ragged dandelion on a bright and sunny day—liked and appreciated, despite its flaws. She even had helped him look into rehab about his drinking problem, idolized as the symbol of strength and support he needed during the times of sobering up.

However much he needed that sense of normality, that sense of stability…he knew it wouldn't last for very much longer. No one could live with the guilt he felt, with the things he knew.

Dean finally looked away from the stars and back to the rectangular tombstones, swiveling past the name "_Mary Winchester_" chiseled in the sand-colored concrete, before resting his gaze back on the coppery marbled one beside it, reading the engraved name "_Sam Winchester—beloved son and kick-ass little brother_", and the line below it "_He really did save all us whiny bitches_".

Figuring Sam would want his memory alongside their mothers, Dean, just months after Sam's death, went back to Lawrence and set up the most elegant, remarkable slab he could find, traveling three states away to buy it. Not long ago Dean reprimanded Sam about their mother's tomb, in how pointless it was to be visiting an empty grave. Now Dean understood, laughing at his own stupidity. With this, he had more than just a memory.

And he was glad for that. Having no other place to go, this was his home every night, his place of comfort. For several nights now, he found himself back at this same spot, asking for the same thing, wondering why he put himself through the misery in knowing that the answer will always be the same.

But the answer was blatantly obvious.

There was always that small smidgen of hope, tiny, hardly noticeable, that somehow remained with him, constantly driving him back…a small sense of foolish optimism that perhaps one day his prayers might be answered.

Dean sniffled, wiping off the wet stream on his left cheek. "I'm so sorry Sammy," he sighed. "I never even got to say goodbye. I know you're probably going to be mad at me for this, but you have no idea how I'm feeling right now."

He looked to the sky once more. He knew he had to try one last time. "God? Are you there? It's me, you know? Dean," he laughed. "Honestly I don't know why I keep asking. I don't know how to bring Sam back. But if I did, you know damn well I'd do it in a heartbeat. I mean, come on. It's been this long. He doesn't deserve this fate. After everything, please just cut him a little slack. Take me if you have to. Take my sacrifice for him. Let him out…please. I have nothing left."

Biting his lip, he waited. Waited for an answer. Waited for a whisper. He really hadn't a clue of what he was waiting for…for just anything.

…And as usual, there was no reply.

Clenching his eyes tight in sheer disappointment, Dean slowly clambered up to his feet. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Screw you," and began heading back towards his car along the paved roadway.

He was a good foot away from the driver door when a blinding flash and a heart-pounding reverberating rumble occurred and he whirled around in alarm. Glancing up, he jumped back as a flash of lightning hurled toward the Earth, splitting into a nearby tree, spurting out a wave of red-hot sparks. Dean threw an arm over his head watching the Cyprus burst into flames.

Next a howling ravaging wind struck up, stirring up all sorts of ground matter and detritus, bending over the rest of the treetops, and threatening to topple Dean over. He leaned forward against the hurricane-like forces, grabbing a hold of the Impala's side-mirrors, squinting to see what unnatural force was causing this.

A vast tremor began in the ground undulating beneath his feet, causing him to lose his balance, and he fell with a loud thud. The rest of the cemetery shook from the earthquake; tombstones tumbled over, heavily leaf-dressed branches from other trees crashed to the ground exploding into wooden shards and dust, the Impala's frame rattling sharply, her tires bouncing rhythmically. Dean glanced all around in consternation, struggling up onto his hands and knees.

"What the hell is this?" he screamed as another flash of lightning struck the ground, creating a geyser of dirt and rock to shoot up a mere yard away.

"Dean."

The deep-toned call to his name filled him with stomach-clenching relief. One look at the trodden trenchcoat, the navy business suit, and the doughy blue eyes was all he needed in knowing a good, somewhat reliable, friend had returned.

Castiel stood amidst all the chaos still and unaffected as though he were standing upon his own hovering cloud. The look upon the angel's face alerted Dean that he too was in a state of perplexity.

"Cass?" Dean stumbled to his feet.

"What'd you do?" came the reply.

"Me?" Dean exclaimed, now confused. "I haven't done a damn thing."

Cass approached him gracefully, placing a hand on his shoulder helping him stand. "What are you doing here?" he yelled.

The fickle Winchester gazed at him peculiarly, taking a step back as more of the ground rocked and waved. "Nevermind me," Dean hollered back, "What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. Something isn't right…MOVE!"

In one arm-tearing-out-of-socket move, Cass flung Dean to safety as the flaming Cyprus had at last come to term and listed to the side, falling to the ground in a torrent of hot embers and heat. Dean had to admit the angel had some skills. Not only did he pull Dean out of harms way, but also simultaneously pushed the Impala back, safely and orderly, before the fiery hardwood had claimed his baby's life.

Dean breathed. "Phew! Nice save."

A pulsing roar then chorused causing both Dean and the angel to wince, Dean having to cover his ears, terrified at how roughly his body vibrated in tune with the thunderous noise. He looked all around trying to discern the source of the roar, horrified in learning it was generating from around the graves.

It was then the tremor in the Earth tripled and the ground before him began to splinter and crack, caving in, disintegrating into rubble. A flow of icy hot air circulated forming into a cyclone having with it a vacuuming suction, Dean's feet creepily sliding towards the falling dirt. Cass held onto his arm as his anchor and he looked on in seeing the ground crack with smoke unfurling from the edges of a deep dark hole.

"Dean, we need to move," Cass cried tugging him back.

Breathless, removing his hands from his ears, Dean stumbled backwards as the ground before his family's empty caskets continued to disintegrate. He stopped, the shock of leaving his family cramping up his gut. "No!"

Cass's expression widened. " Dean, we have to go NOW!"

"Wait…wait!" Dean wrenched his arm out of the iron grip.

"Dean NO!"

Ignoring the angel's call, Dean rushed forward just as both his mother's and brother's memory disappeared from view. "No," he cried, stopping at the edge of the abysmal hole. "Sammy!"

_BOOM! _

Everything went quiet. An explosion of white light erupted upward from the hole and Dean then felt weightless. The feeling only lasted a grand second as the aching pain of landing on his back shot through him like he was shot by a canon. He could've sworn he was deaf, as still no sound would produce.

And then it all flooded back in one agonizing, overwhelming stream.

The blinding white light died down, but the roaring, the wind, and the lightning all crashed down on his senses and he just wanted to curl away from it all, shell himself up, escape.

But as soon as that thought passed, it all stopped.

The sky was clear again. The ground no longer quaked. The air was still, and the flaming tree was now a dying pile of fluorescent ashes.

Dean sat up on his elbows slowly looking around, his jaw dropping in seeing that the hole was gone. Missing. The ground filled in, smooth and level like nothing had ever happened, except that the tombstones were now missing. Cass came back over, also observing the space, curious to the near cataclysm.

Dean looked to his angelic friend when there was a loud resonating crack, and suddenly something very heavy fell on top of him. Seeing what was crushing his legs, his jaw dropped, his body slowly falling into a state of shock. Nothing could describe the emotion that swelled within him in seeing what he cradled in his arms.

_Sam._

Naked and limp, with wisps of steam rising from the lanky frame, his brother lied unconscious, unresponsive, his body hot to the touch. In denial, Dean smacked his stubbled jaw, rending the air with a cry of happiness that he was indeed awake and this was real. He tapped Sam's cheek as an added measure, feeling the damp supple skin, also confirming at what he was seeing was not some mental trick.

"He's real Dean. He's alive," Cass informed, kneeling by the two.

Dean gasped, not bothering to impede the tears escaping from their lachrymal prison. He began to rock, keeping Sam close. "How?"

Cass wearily glanced to the sky. "I don't know."

"Here," Dean said, taking off his leather jacket and covering his brother, in part sparing Sam some dignity. "Sammy?"

Still his brother was unresponsive. Dean filtered his fingers through the long dark damp locks, hoping to elicit a response. "Sammy, come on."

"Dean we can't stay here," Cass said ominously. "If this means what I think it does, then this place is a hotspot for demons and others alike. We need to leave."

"And go where?"

"I'll take you to someplace safe."

Dean nodded slowly in affirmation, caring not for the instant zap traveling, or the unforeseen place Cass intended to bring them, or the fact that his car bungeed a good two feet off the ground once Cass zapped them all back into existence. His only care was for the person still in his arms, the one and only thing that mattered to him, the last piece of the puzzle to his fractured soul.

The hounds of Hell and the meddling powers-at-be couldn't have separated him from his brother again.

Sam was back, and that's all that really mattered…no matter the consequence.

**Hmmm, let's hope Dean is aware of the consequences. Well Sammy's free from Hell. Question is what freed him from there, and what other problems are going to arise from this? Trust me, lot's happening. Next we have a catatonic Sam, Cass trying to figure out exactly what is going on, and what this could possibly mean for them all. Plus Bobster's back!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the delay. Work sort of caught up with me as I've been promoted…not sure if I can handle the stress of it though, but here's hoping, and also I had been packing up to leave town this weekend for my birthday. But anyhow, enough excuses. Here it is, the next installment. Here, we go more into the plot and discover just what exactly is happening with our Sam. Made it nice and lengthy due to the long wait. Hope you enjoy!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Dean should have known Cass was going to bring them to Bobby's. It was the one and only other place he could have called home; that had with it the comfort and welcoming warmth only a home could provide.

Despite sitting out in the lawn, yards away from the front entrance surrounded by tens of dozens rusty broken down automobiles and unusable parts, Dean couldn't help but be filled with a nostalgic bliss. The lights inside the rundown house were on. Smoke filed up and out of the bricked chimney. And the loud dialogue from a television program could be heard.

It meant only one thing.

_Bobby was alive._

And his mentor, his surrogate father, the man who in countless times had lain down his life for Dean and his family, _was home_.

"Wait here," Cass said.

Dean eyed him peculiarly as the angel blinked out of sight. It had been so long since he had last seen Cass, and yet, he still was totally accustomed to the _gone-in-a-flash_ locomotion. He would never fully get over the nauseating feel to the instant mode of transportation, but it did bring back a sense of normality…well, normal in the world of Winchester, that is.

However, why Cass decided to dump he and his unconscious sibling in the dying patched grass was beyond even his ability to comprehend.

Dean didn't need an explanation to the angel's sudden departure. He knew Cass was on his way to warn Bobby of their sudden visit—lessen the blow, so to speak.

Minutes later, his suspicion was confirmed by a stout, slightly pudgy figure flying out the door dragging on a flannel robe, loping in black muck boots. The man surely was getting on in years, but the time lapse certainly hadn't lessened his stamina. The prestigious hunter staggered to a halt, breathless, the clear evidence of surprise emanating from the faded blue eyes.

Bobby stood frozen, scouring every inch of the two people he saw in front of him, as though he was unsure if what he was witnessing was indeed part of reality.

Dean was in for a surprise as well. Half-expecting the man to have given up, lose himself in alcohol and stress, Bobby was, in fact, the opposite. He was clean-shaven, his hair slicked back clean and grease free, no longer wearing a ball cap and grungy clothing, but wearing newer and tatter-free apparel. Plus he had a new invigorating, thinner and healthier appeal to him, as if he had taken a rigorous training exercise and an age-free potion. Of course, knowing the man and his knowledge of spells and alchemy, Dean wouldn't put it past him.

Bobby panted. "I knew it," he huffed in his gruff husky voice. "You idgits are trying to kill me."

"Nice to see you too, Bobby," Dean almost cried with relief.

The man continued to pant, now eyeing Sam with disbelief. "How?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know…but he's back," tears began to bead at the brim of his lids. "And I don't care how, but he is."

"Well," Bobby swallowed convulsively, still enduring the flood of shock and doubt, "We need to get him inside where it's safe."

Dean looked up. "Where's Cass?"

"Cass is gone," Bobby answered curtly kneeling down beside the fragile Winchester, running a hand down the side of the pale face, sighing at the confirmation he was real.

Dean stared at the old man dumbstruck. "Gone? Where the hell did he go?"

"I don't know," Bobby shrugged. "He just—" he snapped his fingers, making a short whistle—"But I did tell the halo-wearing goody-goody the last time I saw him no more sudden surprises and, if there were, to warn me first before I Molotov his ass. Heart isn't what it used to be."

"Ah," Dean nodded, grinning sheepishly, "that explains why he dumped us out here as lawn ornaments, but what does he expect us to do now? Cart Sam in there ourselves? If he hasn't noticed, this kid ain't light!"

"You're asking me?" Bobby shot him a weird look. "Now quit your yapping and lets get you both inside before you catch a cold. Come on," he carefully took hold of Sam's bare legs.

Dean said nothing in reply, instead gripping the bottoms of his brother's shoulders, and on Bobby's cue, hoisted him up. At first they sagged from the weight, but soon both were able to maintain their hold, and carefully carried the precious cargo inside.

Stumbling past the kitchen, a mouth-watering smell wafted through Dean's nose, and he had to pause momentarily.

He took two great enveloping sniffs. "Bobby is that blueberry pie I'm smelling?"

The man opposite him, sneered, gritting his teeth. "Yeah…shut yer yap and hurry up."

Astounded, Dean continued. "You cook now?" he panted, "Whoa, something's not right here. Since when do you cook pie, and"—he looked around, noting the cleanliness of the place and how everything, including the cluttered bookshelves, were neat and straightened—"clean? Is your wife back?"

"No," Bobby bellowed, as they had reached the stairs. "Get going."

Step by step, inch-by-inch, turning crimson from the strain, possibly tearing every known muscle in their biceps and shoulders, the two men were able to transport the flaccid body up the stairs, despite Dean's strong protests for the couch. Bobby was dead set against the youngest of the three waking up cramped, tight as a turtle, for his first night back on Earth after only God knows what he faced and endured down below.

As any one can see who still held power over the elder Winchester!

Finally once up the stairs, down the short caliginous hallway, they entered into the old room, Sam would usually occupy whenever he visited. The room was much the same as they had left it; the covers on the four-footed bed were unfurled and un-pressed, books and various notebooks full of detailed supernatural memorandum lay scattered over one of the desks covered in thickets of dust and cobwebs, and a box, labeled in a black sharpie _Sam's stuff,_ lay in the middle of a dark closet.

It was as though the room hadn't been touched since the last he or his brother had been in it.

Dean and Bobby, panting up a storm, finally heaved with one last gasp the large man onto the bed, Dean immediately covering him in the commemorative blanket, whilst Bobby swatted to rid it of dust and mold.

The big brother then stood back in a daze, recovering from the shock of it. He turned towards Bobby ready to spout off the twenty questions gig, but was totally unprepared for the rib-crushing embrace the man pulled him into. Dean briefly closed his eyes, relishing in the contact, for it had been too long since he had been reunited with his family.

Bobby broke first and pulled back, his eyes also shining with added moisture. "S'good to see ya boy."

"Yeah, you too."

"And Sam?"

"I know," Dean whispered, taking a seat by his brother's side on the bed. He smiled, "Surprise."

Bobby gave a short laugh. "No kidding," he peered down at the sleeping individual. His eyes developed an extra coat of moisture, displaying a mix of solace and inner turmoil, "He looks good. But we gotta face facts here Dean. What does this mean? H-how i-is he back and who did it and why?"

"I know," Dean nodded solemnly, understanding the fear and reasoning behind his mentor's quivering voice. "I think Cass might be working on that right now. Did he tell you to put up any special wards at all?"

"Sure did. S'gonna do that once we had Sam safe and inside," Bobby answered. "I'll go do that now, but you need to get some sleep. I didn't want to say anything, but Sam looks better than you and he's the one who went to Hell and back."

Dean gave a feeble smile, still watching over his brother. "True. But…uh, I don't think I can."

"Well you need to," Bobby addressed in his authoritarian don't-give-me-bullshit tone, "From the looks of it, we don't know what to expect when he finally does wake up. So you're gonna need all the strength you can get. We can't do much for now. Tomorrow is our best bet to accomplish anything and get some real answers. I won't tell you again boy! Get some sleep."

"B-bobby," his lip trembled again, "What if I wake up and all of this isn't real?"

Bobby fell silent, suddenly donning a calm demeanor. "It won't," he said softly. "Sam is back. I assure you he is back and all of this is real. But one way or another if you do fall asleep, you will wake up, and you'll see that this is all happening. Trust me Dean. Trust your instincts. Now go to sleep."

"Okay. I'll try." Dean gave the brief reply, surely having no tenor behind it.

And with that, Bobby left the room in a rush, his robe flapping smoothly in the doorway. Dean felt a chill rise up his spine at the man's departure. He should have felt alleviated and happy, finally back where he belongs, and with his family, but that strong twisting action in his gut told him otherwise, having with it a foreboding feeling he couldn't shake.

Smoothly sliding a thumb over Sam's cool, limp hand, he took whatever most he could get out of this time and place. His instincts were singing a tune alerting him times up ahead were bound to get rough. But in that very moment, he could care less. He couldn't seem to leave Sam's side. Afraid to sleep, fearful that at any time Sam would wake up, terrified at how he would react. He watched hypnotically the rise and fall of Sam's chest; heart pounding with dread that God in his cruelty would punish him by taking Sam's breath away. That submission alone kept him awake for several hours.

In that time, Sam was washed and dressed in his old nightclothes, the big brother taking up his responsibility once more. And at that point, Dean wouldn't have had it any other way.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

The air felt different for some reason. It was stuffy and musky, feeling rather thick, and he coughed, removing the tickle it produced in his throat. Groggy, Dean sluggishly pulled himself up against the headboard, rubbing his neck. He groaned, feeling a headache beginning to brew, possibly from the ache throbbing from the way he slept at a severe angle.

Dean sighed, struggling to overcome the remaining vestiges of sleep. Prying one eye open, he looked around and immediately noticed something was amiss.

This wasn't Lisa's bedroom.

Jolting awake with both eyes open, coming to a stand, it finally registered in his momentary slower-than-average mind that he was no longer in the cabin. The smell was different and the homely appeal was more than familiar. Something clicked and it finally occurred to him he was in Sam's old room at Bobby's.

And that's when the rapid myriad of memories of the previous night hit him like smashing into a brick wall, scattering him in all parts, leaving nothing but his teeth.

_Sammy!_

"Sammy?" he looked down on the bed beside him and froze. The mattress was empty. The blankets and sheets were mussed and crinkled, the pillow used. But it didn't help stop his heart from thudding in his throat.

"Sam!" Dean called, searching all over the room.

Shuffling and a tiny squeak came over by the desk. Looking over in the corner of the wall, Dean saw his brother, with his knees curled to his chest, head resting against the wall. He would have almost sighed with relief, but grew alarmed noticing the incessant shake.

"Sam?" Dean called out softly.

There was no answer.

Dean approached cautiously, keeping his arms apart in a pacifying manner, in case Sam went on the defensive. "Sammy?" he called again.

Still his sibling remained silent.

He drew closer, his body slowly growing tense, his eyes hardly able to blink. Sam's eyes were open, staring at the wall, the bright blue-green irises shining like hydrangeas against stark white corneas, but something was off. He wasn't blinking, nor was there any indication of any activity. He was awake, but the lights weren't on, so to speak. Albeit shaking, his expression was vacant, blank. There was no emotion, no liveliness, nothing…just empty.

The alarm bells were announcing the apocalypse for a second go-around the closer Dean advanced. Gently he nudged the outward shoulder, praying to elicit a response of some kind, preparing in case Sam suddenly acted all psycho-killer. Only…there was no response. Dean carefully prodded the soft flesh once more, a little harder this time, but to no avail, the reaction was the same.

Dean suddenly became aware of his own rapid intakes of air and the soft tremor boring in his hand. "Oh God noooo," he cried, "God! Why can't you bring him back in one piece? No Sammy."

In truth, he wanted to cry, fall apart in the chasm of his emotions, well up and die unable to fight anymore, but he held it in, reining in the turmoil and accumulating outburst. There was a time and place to give into the pressure of this situation, to let go, but this wasn't it. He needed to be strong. He needed to be a fighter. How else would he save Sammy?

"Bobby! Bobby, get up here!" he hollered, no longer scared that it will effect his brother. It didn't seem like a heavy-duty bomb would even do the trick! He didn't wait for the older man to come galloping up the stairs before he called out, "Cass! Cass, I need you here quick! Cass!"

He should have been prepared for arrival at the sound of wings and the instant dead air, but as it had slipped through his mind over the years, he was caught off guard when the angel magically appeared in front of him, nose-to-nose, the shock of it dumping him on his ass.

"You rang?" The angel lifted a tiny eyebrow, peering at him inquisitively.

Dean shot him a dark look from the floor. He scrambled to his full height, growling. "Yeah, I did. Thanks for taking off last night. Such a great hand," he lashed.

Castiel sighed glancing off to the side, obviously exasperated. "Dean did you really call me here to lambaste me?"

Dean huffed, relaxing somewhat when Bobby, fully dressed in jeans and a dress shirt, came hurling into the room with a locked and loaded shotgun. He looked to the angel. "No. Something is wrong with Sam. I need you look at him. See what's happening.

Cass turned to the source of Dean's worry, squinting, studying the creature before him.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked again.

The angel dodged the question, shaking his head, " I am unsure."

"Cass, did you find out anything about what all of this could mean?" Bobby voiced from behind, lowering his weapon to the side.

Suddenly Cass became incredibly serious, growing stiff in his posture, staring down the older man with a deadly, yet concerned expression. Surprisingly, it was alleviating to Dean to see it, because it meant that the angel could still feel emotion.

"Both sides grow restless with this latest development. Almost three times more activity and uncertainty now than they were when you were saved from the pit," he glanced over at Dean. "No one has any real answers and they're frantically scrambling for power as we speak. Some are gathering, in small bands, others in large forces, about to set out to search for Sam."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, if you consider entire legions of angels and demons, other creatures as well, arming out, believing that Sam could very well be the next tyrannical ruler of both realms, and plan on eviscerating any and everyone in cohort with him as any other day, then no, it's not bad," Cass replied, giving a small smirk.

Bobby returned a sour look towards the unwarranted sarcasm. "Okay smartass, then what can we do?"

"Nothing, we stay put. Nobody knows who or what saved Sam. It could very well be God who did it. In that case, we do nothing. They won't harm him if they find him," he shrugged, "Of course that is theoretical."

Dean swore the more Cass spelled out the news and the unusual sarcasm, the more steam was billowing out of his ears. He listened and waited, slowly treading on the verge of a very powerful aspersion. Cass going on about the advancing enemies of both sides was not comforting, nor was it helpful in that very moment.

"Alright wavy gravy, that wonderful news," once more he graced everyone's presence with his sarcastic wit, "But we have more pressing issues right now. We need to figure out what the hell is going on with Sam's mental ability; otherwise there would be no need to wait for the Kingdom of Heaven to come down on us."

Cass sighed. "Dean, I don't know what's causing this certain catatonia."

"So he is catatonic. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Try to find out then. Please," Dean enforced.

Obviously in disapproval of the stern order, Cass stubbornly stepped towards the curled figure, cautiously laying a hand on the sweaty forehead, and closed his eyes. Dean grew nervous at the hesitant touch. If Cass was on guard, shouldn't they all be?

It was another minute or two of anticipation, of Dean shifting from foot to foot eager for Intel, when Cass finally let go of Sam's forehead. It was then he began to back slowly as if accidentally stumbling upon Papa Kodiak Bear in his den, which caught his attention. But it was the unexpected expression of fright building on the vessel's face, and the stutters coming from the angel had both his and Bobby's hairs at a standstill.

"Cass, what is it? What's wrong?" Dean asked, a little too apprehensive for the answer, especially when his angelic friend began to pant.

"He's still there," came the barely audible whisper.

"What? Who?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"Who do you think numb-skull?" Cass lashed. He turned back to Sam, "Lucifer. He still is residing within Sam's body, fighting to get out."

Once the name was mentioned, Dean felt his porcelain heart shatter. His brother, after all this time, was continually being assaulted by the fallen angel; still fighting for dominance over his body. But it wasn't just that little reminder that stole Dean's breath away. If Lucifer was still alive and kicking, then if he were to be set free, no doubt there would be a preview for Round Two of the Apocalypse.

"Not again," Dean gasped, not at all prepared for the encumbering weight that came with that statement.

"Agreed," Cass said dangerously, suddenly brandishing the archangel's sword, posing it to kill.

"Cass NO!" Dean was in motion before the knife could deliver its deathblow. Sliding over his brother at the last minute, a gut-wrenching scream escaped past his lips as he felt the cool steel pierce into his shoulder.

Angry and desperate, Cass yanked the sword out and threw the injured man to the side, ready to make another blow.

Dean couldn't figure out how he was moving so fast. In another slide home, grimacing at the hell-like fury pulsing in his upper body and the rapid gush of blood, he grabbed a hold of the sword-yielding hand just before it came down and finished off his brother, the staggering force lowering him down to the floor.

"Cass! Stop it! Stop it NOW!" Dean bellowed frantically, his strength losing out quickly to the angel, like an insect to a giant Labrador.

"No. He has to die. We cannot risk it!"

"NO!"

"Castiel, I said knock it off," came the brusque powerful tone, "Or so help me!"

The angel looked up, his eyes widening at seeing what Bobby was holding. Dean looked too and saw the old man carrying idly in his hands a beer bottle with a rag in it, a lighter in his other hand, lit and ready to torch. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the contents inside the bottle was holy oil. Why else would Cass suddenly back off like a submissive slave?

Of course, Dean was more interested in how fast the man moved to get the bottle in the first place.

"I told you I wasn't kidding when I'd Molotov your ass," Bobby added, "Now get away from Sam, and patch that boy up."

Surprisingly, the angel reluctantly relented, tucking away the bloody weapon, offering the gagging man on the ground a helping hand. Dean, coughing for air, refused the hand and staggered to his feet, a bit dizzy from the shock and bloodloss. Cass immediately cured him with the touch of his hand, and Dean felt whole once more…but definitely was keeping a good distance from the whimsical being, his trust permanently damaged.

"Good, now that we have an understanding," Bobby glowered at the holy tax accountant, "Don't try that again. Sit. We need to figure out what to do first before we take any drastic action. Am I understood?"

Cass didn't answer, but gave a strong purse of the lips. Apparently that meant a yes! He then took a seat on the bed, eying the two men carelessly.

Dean, still a little on edge after what just transpired, took a seat on the wall by his catatonic sibling, keeping an ever-present watchful eye on the nerd. "So what do we do now? Killing Sam right now is not an option, so don't even think about it."

"There isn't much we can do. If you're suggesting we leave well-enough alone, then Sam has to do this himself," Cass informed, a bit temperamental. It was beginning to get on Dean's nerves with the badass attitude. It certainly had him wonder if something ever happened to his friend to make him want to act like this. But he didn't press.

"What are you talking about?" Bobby piped, keeping the holy oil on hand.

Cass began to eye the opposite wall, non-blinking. "The battle seems to be going on in"—he pointed at Sam's head—"and Sam is in grave danger of losing. He's still fighting the Devil, but I'm not sure how much longer he'll be able to sustain his defenses."

"So what's making him zone out?" Dean queried, "Is it the Devil?"

"No. For some reason," he sighed, "it looks like the catatonia is Sam's doing. Possibly this is his mind's defense in having gone through trauma, through Hell, and suffering from the presence of Lucifer alone. It's too much to handle in so short of a time."

"Oh, kinda like a computer with too much kick. Shuts itself down to save power," Dean offered the analogy.

Cass gave him a blank stare. "Whatever that means."

"Okay? So what now?" Dean gazed at him forlornly, "We just let Sammy duke it out with our buddy Lucy, and pray he comes out as the heavyweight champ?"

"If it comforts you to see it that way," Cass remarked, but ultimately received an unappreciated look from both men.

"No. There's got to be another way. Can't you try to communicate with him somehow? You're new and improved, hack your way in."

"It won't be that easy."

"Cass, please. Just try," Dean pleaded.

At least expecting a roll of the eyes, Dean was taken back when the Angel conceded, non-hesitantly coming over and kneeling by Sam's side, once again placing a hand on the forehead.

As the seconds rolled by, turning into minutes, Dean and Bobby again watched with anticipation, growing more anxious at the crinkle of Cass's forehead and the occasional grimace. About ten minutes later, Cass opened his eyes, falling back on his rump, breathless.

He nodded. "He-he's there," he coughed. "But he's in trouble. He says he doesn't know how much longer he can hold out. I told him we'd find a way to help him and just to, how would you put it, hang tight."

Dean nearly broke from the debilitating blow of that message. His brother was in dire need of help, and they were stuck on the outside, being of no use. He absolutely hated that useless qualm. It held no purpose for a time like this. Sam was fighting the battle of the Earth inside his head, and only he could fight it…nah uh, there had to be another way. It wouldn't be fair for him to fight alone.

And then a nasty, almost brilliant idea occurred to him. However, he didn't see any other choice.

"Then get me in there," he announced.

Both Bobby and Cass peered at him as if he just introduced himself as _Madonna_. "What?" they both said in unison.

"You heard me. Get me into Sam's head," he was dead serious, "Sammy needs help and I'm not letting him fight this alone anymore."

"Dean, there are serious risks at hand—"

"I don't care. He needs me and that's all that matters," he interrupted the snarky angel.

"Okay Candyman," Bobby folded his arms, "Say we were to get you in there, then what? How are you going to help your brother go up against the Devil? Last I checked, he gave you a new face in just a few hits."

"I know that Bobby, but…"he shrugged, shaking his head, "I'll think of something."

"Yeah well you better think of something," Bobby voiced strongly, "because if you do happen to get in there and this goes through, it's not just you and Sam that are at stake. We all will be under the axe if you can't get to him in time, you hear me?"

"I got it Bobby. But what other choice do we have? We have to try and help him. I don't know how, but we gotta try."

Cass huffed. "He's right. If anything, having Dean inside with Sam might actually help Sam in conquering Lucifer. And if he does, then that'll give us time to figure a way in destroying him for good without destroying Sam in the process."

"Is there a way?"

"Not to my knowledge, no," he answered somberly. "But we won't give up hope. We'll find something."

Dean gave a full-fledged smile. "Great to have you back Cass. Now let's get cooking. Put me into my brother's head…my God, that sounded dirty," he shivered with disgust, "Let's go!"

"I don't like this," Bobby gulped, resuming Cass's place on the bedspread.

"I know you don't Bobby, but what else are we going to do? I can't sit back and watch Sammy take on this alone. I won't."

The old man sighed, further settling onto the bed. "Alright."

"Wait, take this," Cass then pulled out a gold talisman in the shape of a pebbled cross out of his trenchcoat pocket and placed it into Dean's outstretched palm, and it made him wonder if he had that the entire time. "If and when you have Sam, and the Devil is at bay, take this out and say the words _in nomen of Josafna, solvo nos_. You must say those correctly and it'll bring you both back."

"So you're telling me you can't do your magic mumbo jumbo to get us out?"

"No, it would be too risky on my part. If because of my presence I were to alert Lucifer, he could use me to get out. It's no contest. That is something I'm not willing to risk. I'm sorry, but this is your choice. You have to escape yourself."

"Oh, that's just…peachy keen, isn't it?" Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "Okay now, how does this work?"

"Just get comfortable. I'll let you in, but remember you have to find your way back out."

"Alright fine. No problem. I_n nomen of Josafna, solvo nos_. _In nomen of Josafna, solvo nos_," he whispered repetitively, leaning back against the wall, "Okay Sammy. Get the house ready for me, cuz here I come." He took up his brother's hand. "Oh God, I feel like a flower child. Don't you dare take this the wrong way."

He gripped the talisman over his chest tighter, and nodded to Cass to get going. "Hang on Sammy, I'm coming."

Castiel hovered over both of them, placing a hand across both Sam's forehead and Dean's. "Prepare yourself. It might not be what you would expect."

Dean laughed. "It can't be but so bad. He was in my head at one point, and there's nothing worse than…" his eyes suddenly rolled up into the back of their sockets, and his head sunk onto one of Sam's bent knees.

Cass shook his head. "He doesn't ever know when to shut up, does he?"

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Dean was fully aware of the sojourn from his body and into the next. It was like taking a joyride on one of Stargate's travel tubes into the next galaxy, flashy lights, roller-coaster ride and all. Shaken up and somewhat unstable, Dean found himself in a dark, dank place. It was odd in that it smelt of moldy wood and rotten vegetable matter. Darkness enveloped all of his surroundings and it was only the smell he could go on.

Turning around, it was still dark, his pupils dilated to their fullest, and still, it was difficult to make out where he was.

_Drip. Drip._

The casual sound of water trickling caught his attention and he whirled around, using his trained hearing to scope it out.

_Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip_

Moving ahead, hearing splashing at his feet, now learning that he's standing in, what he hoped was, water up to his knees. He worked through the watery cavern, following the _drip drip_. His senses were tingling like mad, and an involuntary shiver undulated up and down his spine. Terror was gripping him in an icy grip, and there was nothing, he felt, he could do about it.

He carried on, determined, with only one purpose in mind. His little brother was in here somewhere and he had to find him before the other guy did.

"Sam," he called, expecting to hear a response this time.

He was in for a big disappointment when all but the _drip drip_ sounded. "Dammit Sammy, come on. We don't have much time. Sam? Where are you?"

More splashing, his arms fanned out searching for any small enclosure, a wall, anything? Being out in the open was probably not a safe bet.

"SAM! Say something!" he bellowed, then listened carefully after his reverberating echo. And that's when the hairs on the back of his neck became stone-like. There was no more _drip drip._ There was splashing, but it wasn't from his own feet. And suddenly he felt hot breath on the back of his neck.

_Oh shit!_

A growl sounded somewhere behind him. He whirled around throwing his arm out, ready to bash the living hell at whatever was back there, but his hand swung effortlessly into mid-air. The growl chorused again, only it grew in length, morphing into a banshee-like screech.

Dean started back slowly, before all logic pointed out to flat out run. He only made it a few jumps when something large, dark, and unseen had barreled into him, knocking him under the water. Spluttering, a little disturbed that he had to hold his breath because it felt so real, he clambered back to his feet, arms spread out defensively.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," he goaded. "Where are you at?"

The only answer he received was the sound of flapping wings and a long screech, before he felt something pierce into both his shoulders, and suddenly he became air-born. Wrenching out a pained cry, Dean felt for the things dug into his flesh; tear ripping out a good measure of his spine, learning they were broad steel-like talons. The talons then were connected to what felt like leathery reptilian skin. He couldn't see where he was going, only that he was flying at an incredible speed.

_Oh this can't be good._ "SAMMY!"

**Well, well, well…not so bad in little brother's mind, eh? Well, trust me, it's about to get a whole helluva lot worse. Poor Boys. Gear up, next we have Dean battling the big bad, trying to find his brother, and Cass and Bobby may be up to something. I don't think there will be as long a wait next time. We'll see how work goes. Take care!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, that certainly took a lot longer than I expected. Sorry about that. Well, here we are…round three. Let's see the mess Dean has found himself sinking in. It won't be pretty! Hope you enjoy!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

The flight from Hell continued. The steady rhythm of flapping wings echoed in his ears overlapping the roaring pulse of wind. Pain seethed with a fury in his upper body, singing soprano the longer he was air-born. _Big Bird_, or whatever the hell it was, let out another pterodactyl-like screech and the rate at which they were flying, if at all possible, sped up.

Dean screamed long and loud, clenching onto the talons embedded in his shoulders, fighting against the unstoppable dizziness enshrouding the edges of his sight and mind. Already blind from all the darkness, he squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the devastating impact he was sure to come. God knew what this thing was, and where it was taking him.

He shivered. Just the mere thought of being snatched to some nest, where about three or so _fugly_ winged babies with giant heads, grouper-sized eyes, and ostrich necks about ready to play tug-of-war over his meat, had him convulse with disgust.

First Puppy Chow, and now wormfood, promised to be later _birdshit_!

That was a Hell to the NO!

Thinking fast, his hand instantly shot to his boot, where a tiny switchblade was daily kept. Hardly ever used, the small blade was kept there whenever times at a bar became a bit hostile and his fists were no longer contestants. There were times where he wanted to tell Lisa of his extracurricular activities, but some things, he supposed, were meant to be taken to the grave.

Not entirely sure if it would work, being but a figment in his brother's mind, Dean figured it was at least worth a shot. If he could bring in a talisman the size of one of _Willy Wonka's_ golden eggs, why not his own personal insurance plan?

And sure enough, reality was put on hold for once.

Digging into the soggy leather, the tips of his fingers wrapped around the small plastic hilt, smoothly sliding it out, where he immediately plunged it into the underside of the big ass talons. The creature howled with pain, shaking him violently, as he yanked the blade out and plowed it again under another large curved claw.

And that's where it occurred to him that he didn't think the next part through.

_Big Bird_ had let go, and he fell, his body completing several flexible gymnasts' somersaults-only without the bars.

And he thought he had overcome his fear of flying!

Dean braced himself, covering his head with his arms, contorting the rest of his body into a rugby player's defense curl. The whistling in his ears from his freefall made matters worse in that he couldn't hear the building he was heading steadily for. What felt like a solid hit to concrete, and then falling through crumpling debris, Dean still kept in his tightly fetal ball, as finally his body slammed down onto some hard flooring, knocking the wind right out of him.

With his world spinning off its axis for a sheer second, Dean coughed, a mass of dust spritzing out in a fan as he coughed again, struggling to pull in much needed air. Aches and pain ripped through all over, and he lied still for a minute, coveting the rapid dulling throbs.

What a freakin' ride! So far he didn't like what was in his brother's head. He'd have to get the snot one big ass happy pill after this little trip.

The flapping of wings was heard nearby and he immediately leapt to his feet, switchblade in hand, on the defensive. Shadows darted all around the walls, distorting into large and small shapes, on the floor, past the columns…wait? Columns?

So busy whirling around in tracking the fleeting shadows, it took him a moment to discern his surroundings. No longer in complete darkness, Dean recognized the beam of orange light filtering through, in the shape of striated arc. Turning around, his guess was proved to be right as the dark warehouse where Meg attacked him and his brother via Daevas stood before him.

Tiny whispers and hushed grunts of anger was heard in the corner and there he stood transfixed at seeing himself and Sam, bloody, tied to a column with the blonde haired demon bitch, Meg, sitting in front, smirking with malicious delight.

He watched himself turn to his brother. "_Hey Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend? Is a bitch._"

Dean shrugged. It was a cocky remark, sure, but damn did he sound good saying it!

"_Let me guess, the whole thing was a trap_," Sam went on to say, "_Running into you at the bar, hearing what you had to say, it was all a setup…_"

Dean stood by, obviously listening in on the memory. It finally occurred to him, hearing the demon bitch's chortle that they were in Chicago. This was the warehouse they followed Meg to, and in short, was beaten, slashed down to a pulp by Daevas, and served as a trap for their father. Only Sam was able to cut himself free, flip over the powering alter, and set the shadow demons loose on their boss.

Only it turned out the broken spell hadn't lasted long, and the demons were back, tearing into him, Sam, and their Dad. _Nasty little shits!_

Dean shuddered, hating that particular time, where it was he who has suggested they split up. After tracking and searching for their Dad for so long, after finally meeting up with him, only to break up the family reunion so that their Dad could escape in one piece. His frown turned into a frown of revulsion at hearing the demon's poisonous words echo "_baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less._"

This was the part where she revealed they were being used as a trap.

"_You trapped us, good for you_," his cocky voice rang out once again, bringing yet another smirk to his face, "_It's Miller time. Why don't you kill us already?_"

Loud ear-piercing squawks threw him off guard and he whirled around to watch the shadows on the wall swirl, like uncoiling smoke, but then took the shape of a large winged creature with a pointed head. His breathing became labored as panic slowly began to extend its gangly claws over him, but soon the quick inhales became short gasps as the shadow suddenly morphed into a man.

"Well hello Dean. It's been a while," a soft whispered sounded in his head.

The shadow remained on the wall, but he could see no man, no corporeal body to go with it. He turned and saw the three members on the floor, Meg sitting on his legs whispering taunts to his face.

"Nah, nah. Over here Dean," called the voice. He faced the wall again, almost in tears of apprehension, a bit terrified at the silhouette shaking a pointed finger. He already knew whom he was dealing with.

"I must admit, I didn't think to see you here. Of course, it doesn't entirely surprise me. Sammy always seems to be a needy bitch. But nevertheless…even to be here, you still must have friends in high places. Castiel, I bet?"

Dean said nothing, but carefully glanced around for an exit.

"Yes," the shadow continued, "Castiel was always a traitorous companion of yours. No doubt he may be lurking around here somehow. Hmmm, very interesting…" the pointed finger patted the outlines of a chin.

"Whatever dude," Dean's voice shook, "Where the hell is my brother?"

"Ah. It appears we're looking for the same person. Your brother and I do have a little bit of a tizzy to finish up," Lucifer rasped. "Unfortunately little Sammy certainly knows how to hide."

At that brief bit of information, Dean's heart lightened up. At least Sam was still alive.

"Ohhh, I wouldn't get too warm and fuzzy about that Dean. You see, we have all the time in the World. He let me in, and so I can just take over if I want to…"

"Then why don't you?"

"So we will have a replay like we did before. Come on Dean, you know what happened that day at the cemetery. However much it pains me to say this, times like that prove to me your brother is a lot stronger than I give him credit for. And I'm not taking any chances this time. I will find your brother and I will kill him. I've had enough of you Winchesters. It was all about you in the beginning, but now I've had my fair share…"

A pit of terror began to widen in Dean's gut at the ominous message the shadow was conveying to him. No doubt the guy had the power to take on and completely annihilate his brother in one blow, and him too, for that matter. Lucifer was pissed. Dean had to admit he wasn't surprised. He would be too, if the circumstances were reversed. But showing empathy towards the pissed off Fallen Angel wasn't going to get him out of this predicament.

"Don't count on finding Sam. It won't matter even if you did…because you see, _I_ know we're out of Hell, and now it's open season!"

The elder Winchester began to feel a bit flushed with anxiety. In a situation like this, typically the protocol was to stall the enemy whilst simultaneously thinking of a solution to escape. But…since he was practically in the midst of an awful memory, somewhere in the dark recesses of his kid brother's head, and was talking to nothing but a shadow—and probably not the real guy, he had to think fast. There had to be a way out.

Dark seductive whispers sounded behind him. "_Were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free_…"

Meg's sinister voice cut into him like shredding cheese and he grimaced…that was until he recalled on what happened next.

"_No. No. It's because I have a knife of my own_," Sam replied back to her, and then Meg's loud howl of pain was heard as Sam rammed his head into hers, before dumping the demon on her ass.

"_Sam! Get the alter_," his handsome voice rang out.

That was it!

Dean backed up just as Lucifer's shadow began to transform into the large winged creature once more. A loud crash of memory Sam dumping Meg's alter sounded behind him and that was his cue. He took off the second the Daevas broke free, advancing on the small woman. Whilst Meg was dragged alongside the dust-ridden floor, he ran alongside. Lucifer screeched angrily as soon his shadow became entangled with the shadows of the Zoroastrian pitbulls, distorting his visage.

The window exploded with her screams and he jumped through, covering his face, preparing for the probable-crippling hit of the tarmac below.

Only…

The hard skull shattering impact never came.

Instead, his feet broke through a watery surface, his body torpedoing down smoothly through the murky surroundings. Holding his breath, he fought hard for the surface, relishing in the cool salty air as his head broke through. It was bright all around, a searing heat blazing into his skin, the blinding light burning into his corneas.

Totally against opening his eyes, partly in fear of his precious commodities bursting ablaze out of his skull, Dean turned around and slowly pried them open to slits, seeing…a lake?

Stunned, Dean looked up and, sure enough, he was floating in a lake…a much too familiar lake.

Splashes alerted him to the left and what he saw, his heart suddenly felt twisted and wrung out to dry.

It was him, only as a young boy, keeping afloat a five-year-old Sammy. The young boy kicked his little legs ferociously, swinging his little arms in a hasty swimmer's stroke, the splashes of the orange _Floaties_ smacking Dean's younger self in the face. But the little boy never seemed to stop smiling. He instantly remembered it as the time he was teaching his little brother how to swim.

"_Hold me Dean_," Sammy let out a tiny fearful shriek.

"_I gotcha Sammy. I won't letcha go_," young Dean reassured.

The tiny arms swat and beat at the water faster, his little legs picking up a tempo. His younger self donned his infamous shit-eating grin and he let the youngster go without the little guy's knowledge.

"_There you go Sammy, you're swimming_."

"_Huh?_"

"_Look no hands_," Dean brought his hands up. "_You're doing it_."

"_I'm doing it_," Sam looked down, noticing he was still afloat. "_I'M DOING IT! Dean_," and then he stopped, his bottom instantly sinking like a dropped stone…but before the youngster could scream bloody-murder; nine-year-old Dean had him in his arms, propping him up again, and ready for the next part of the lesson.

Little Sammy laughed.

There had to have been extra salt in the air, because Dean had to wipe his eyes. This had to be at the lake near the Pastor's home in Minnesota. His father had left them in Pastor Jim's care for a couple weeks, and his little brother had been—painstakingly—excited to learn how to swim. Dean hadn't been too keen to take up the role as swim teacher, but as the Pastor had clergy duty, and Sam was prone to loud temper tantrums that included a lot of waterworks back then, Dean relented.

However, sensing the youngster's excitement brought about a big old toothy grin, and he rather enjoyed himself for the most part of the day.

That was until a group of minnows swam into Sammy's swimtrunks, effectively scaring the shit out of the five-year-old, and in reaction accidentally broke Dean's nose.

But the shit-eating grin remained…albeit painfully.

Dean laughed at that memory. It was one of the finer times of his childhood, one he couldn't believe Sam had remembered.

But soon his laughter died at seeing the sky darken and clumping clouds fraught with lightning and thunder build up all around them, confusion taking place. He didn't remember a storm ever rolling in. There were no longer splashes and playful giggles, and he saw the memory was gone. Both he and younger Sammy had vanished, nothing left but the dead calm of the water. He took that as another cue to leave and he began to swim towards the open shore.

Sopping wet, Dean lumbered up the sandy beach, shaking himself out like a wet dog. The brewing storm grew in scale and he ran, where instantly the beach scenery changed and he found himself in a scarcely wooded forest…or really…

Completing a double take, he didn't see that he was in a set of woods, but was actually in an apple orchard. Thinking back to the recent orchard he last knew he was in, he was half-expecting to see himself, Sam, and, whomever that chick was, in running from the Pagan God dressed as one fugly scarecrow.

But boy was he in for a surprise?

Loud ferocious barks echoed from a distance and he turned in time to see, yet again, himself, only slightly older than last time, carrying a broken legged Sammy over his shoulder, running his little ass off. Dean stood stock-still, watching wide-eyed as his younger self ran from a pack of wild dogs, while little Sammy pelted apple-flavored jellybeans at the rampant mutts.

"_Hurry Dean! They're gaining on us_," little Sammy yelled, throwing another jellybean, which bounced off a German Shepard's head.

"_I'm…go…going_," his younger self panted.

A little amused over what just ran past, Dean shook his head, also in silent laughter over the memory. He jogged after the group, needing to get to Sammy. He had to find his brother before Lucifer did. And if that accumulating storm were anything to judge by, he'd say Lucy was drawing in close.

"Sammy," he called.

The little boy didn't answer, only continued chucking jellybeans, and issuing out tiny curses at the dogs.

"Sam. Hey wait up," he took off at a run, following the boys to one of the apple trees, where Dean began to climb (to older Dean's surprise) fast like a spider monkey, still keeping his brother suspended. The dogs all surrounded the base of the tree, barking like starving maniacs, in anger and frustration at their prey escaping from their grasp.

"_What are we going to do Dean?_" he heard little Sammy squeak.

"_We'll stay right here and wait for Dad. Dad will take care of these Hell mutts for us Sammy_." Once again, Dean was reassuring his little brother.

"_You don't think they can get to us, do ya?_" Sam peered up at him with those large glossy eyes.

"_Nah. Wouldn't bet on it. We're pretty far up_," little Dean smiled. "_And what did I tell you about meddling with the Gunnerson's dogs, huh?_"

"_I know_," little Sammy drawled, casting his eyes down in shame. "_And it sucks too, cuz that was all my jellybeans_."

"_Eh that's okay squirt, we'll getcha some more when Dad comes and gets us. I'm just hoping it won't be for long, cuz I gotta take a piss_…_well…_"

Oh no, it didn't surprise Dean at all to see his younger self stand up on a lofty branch, unzip his fly, and went about doing his business all over the raging Fidos. He had to turn away in an attempt to suppress his laughter, quite in fact thoroughly entertained.

Sammy chuckled when Dean finished and sat back down. "_Thank you big brother. You saved me_," little Sammy leaned over and gave his younger self a big hug.

Okay…where's a God Damn tissue when you need one? This was becoming too much on his already fragile emotional state. Were these Sam's happy memories? It intrigued him that they were…well, in a way he hoped they were. At least all of Sam's happy memories weren't about running away.

He shook his head, fearing anymore lingering thoughts in Happy-Land, he'd have taken up a permanent residence. He probably wouldn't have minded—he hadn't been filled with this much blithe, since…well, it's been a while—but there were more pressing issues at hand.

"Sammy! Come on little dude, I need to talk to you," he called up, kicking at the barking dogs, "Get out of here. Get out of here. Sammy?"

And what do you know, the little snot didn't answer. He kept hugging onto his brother like he was his own life preserver, swinging his cast leg.

"Sammy! Seriously! The devil's coming to town, and he's going to beat the dog snot out of you if you don't get out of that tree!"

Nope, that didn't take either.

"Sam?"

"_Hey Dean! Over here! Whatcha doing?_" someone called from behind.

Dean turned to see an older Sam, just barely seventeen, lean, gangly, obviously having suffered from a Hellish growth spurt, stomp over to him. The teenager grasped his arm and steered him away from the tree, heading down the orchard's path…no, wait…it changed.

The wooded area was gone, and now he was taking a stroll down a carpeted aisle with padded seats on either side, heading towards a large curtained stage to the front, complete with an archaic rectangular podium. Immediately noticing the emerald satin gowns a large number of kids wore, all wearing square hats and enthusiastic expressions, Dean recognized this was Sam's high-school graduation.

Boy was he beginning to get dizzy.

"_Remember I got you a seat somewhere in the front, okay?_" teenage Sam said to him.

He shunted forward at Sam's push, his legs a mess, obviously still trying to adjust to the current transition. He looked to his brother and was amazed at the happiness emanating from him. It was like the kid had just gotten laid or something; he was glowing, lit up like a July Fourth fireworks extravaganza.

"_Winchester, are they here?"_ A harsh voice barked. Dean saw it was the school's principal Mr. Lawson, he remembered as a miserable old coot, who acted more like a snobbish Military General.

"_Yes sir_," his brother replied. "_My family is here_."

"_All of them?_" Lawson glared down at him with his overly bulbous black eyes.

"_Yes sir. All of them_."

"_Good. Now move your ass and get your robe on, so we can get this thing on the go,_" the general ordered.

Dean was puzzled. Glancing all around, it only struck him that it was just he that was there, no John. Then he remembered their father was off on some hunting expedition and had yet to return, completely missing the graduation. And with the way Sam had replied with "all of them", it was like he knew that. Instantly Dean felt a slight tingle of remorse, but said nothing.

Sam then stashed him in a seat in the front row, still with that radiant smile, "_So glad you're here Dean. Get comfortable. It's going to be awhile_."

"_That's cool man_," he heard himself say…but instantly became confused, realizing those words didn't come from his mouth. He turned and frowned, seeing himself yet again in the seat next to him, his opposite self holding a very smug grin, checking out the buxom blonde two seats down. "_I'll be fine_."

Dean rolled his eyes at his own frivolous antics, watching his brother take leave and settling in line with the rest of the graduates. But instead of staying and taking part in his brother's happiness again, he got up from his chair and headed for a spotted doorway. If ever he wanted Sam to be this happy again, he had to get a move on it. Sam's life was in jeopardy, and no way was he going down without a fair fight.

Barging through the door, he stopped dead in seeing more darkness. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and he saw he was in a furnished room. Terror crept in, chilling his core, a bit shaken in that this place might be part of Lucifer's lair, or something.

Could it be that?

Oh no, as he slowly became aware of just _where_ exactly he was. It was something way worse.

Instead of being on some torture table, he found himself actually lying in a comfy bed under very thin blankets. The bed suddenly quaked, and he'd have thought he was in some devastating earthquake, but finally catching the large lump under the sheets, and the undeniable coitus making sounds beneath, it all became too clear.

Dean had to cover his mouth, finally understanding where _here_ was. The curly blonde hair jutting out from the covers said it all. He had to be at Stanford…and under the sheets?

Yeah! Awkward.

Dean didn't know how best to get out of this situation. But more or less, he really had had enough of Sammy's happy time. He emitted out a cough.

The rustling under the covers stopped, and a sweaty Sam came out, wide-eyed. "Dean? What the hell are you doing here?"

Forget stunned! Dean was well over in the deathly stages of shock. Sam could see him, was looking at him right now.

How was it that this piece of memory could actually see him? Either one of the others could…but most importantly, why this one?

"Yea…um. Wow! Hi," he stuttered sheepishly, growing crimson in the face. "How ya doing?"

"Just peachy Dean," Sam squawked. "Now get out of here. This is happy time. If you're looking for me, I'm not here."

Dean shot the memory a serious glance. "What?"

Giggles sounded, and Sam laughed, squirming a bit. "Y-yeah. Lucifer has already checked in, but I had to decline. Sam's not here. If you don't believe me, you can go right ahead and look under the covers…though I don't think you want to see what's under there."

He squirmed again and Jessica let out a teeth-chattering howl. Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from saying…or rather thinking anything. But he couldn't help but be impressed…

"See what I mean?" Sam replied to him breathlessly. "Now go, out that door," he nodded towards the bedroom exit. "But just FYI, not only do you have to find him, but you need to convince him that it's you, otherwise he'll blow your balls off."

"Huh? Why? Won't he know it's me? You did!"

"Erm…not exactly. I mean, Hell, you might be Lucifer right now. That dude has many tricks. I don't know why he keeps dropping in. He's such a pervert…" his sentence slurred into an eruption of chuckles, and his kid brother went back down under, exploring the world of sexual fantasy.

Having enough of the two lovers, Dean shot out of the bed, hustling towards the door as suggested. Now prepared for another change in atmosphere, he wasn't surprised in seeing that he was now in Bobby's upstairs hallway. The red walls and several black doors with antiquated lighting fixtures were the dead giveaway. Now in a different place, a very interesting question captured his attention: _Now what?_

Touching his right breast, feeling the hardened metal of the talisman, he felt relieved in that it was there, lodged in his pocket. A small part of him wanted to say those words Cass told him and get the hell out of here…but the other large part of him wanted nothing more than to find his brother. He was scared. That he would happily admit. But…this was Sam. He couldn't leave him. He would much rather die…odds were, he would die, but that wasn't the point!

Figuring standing in the middle of the hallway like an idiot, as if waiting for a replay of the _Shining_, Dean figured he might try all of the doors. Coming to the first door, he learned very quickly it was locked. Ramming his shoulder into it did nothing. The damn thing wouldn't budge.

And unfortunately, none of the other doors would either.

_Well, this is something_, Dean thought. _What was that about I wanted to stay?_

He let out a sigh, already having a fair share of this journey.

That was until there was a loud _BOOM!_ The entire hallway vibrated and shook roughly and he nearly lost his balance. The _booms_ continued, in more consistency, and Dean grabbed a hold of the wall.

"What the Hell?"

There was another loud canon noise and then the door down at the opposite end opened. And to his shock, in emerged a bloody and sweaty Sam, carrying a shotgun, slamming the door behind him. The man, gasping for air, clutched his side where a large spot of red blossomed, and he glided smoothly down the wall. A stitch grew in Dean's side. His brother was hurt.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, gazing wildly at his sibling. His instincts were singing, and in his gut and his heart, he knew for a fact this was the real Sam, the one had been looking for.

Sam gasped once more in seeing the other guy in the hallway. Immediately he jumped to his feet, aiming the gun. "Stay where you are," he directed.

"Sam, it's me," Dean stepped forward.

"Stay back, or so help me," the mossy green eyes shone with a powering vigor, one that was full of fear and distrust.

"Sammy, it's me Dean," he took another step forward…

…and his brother, in sheer mistrust, squeezed the trigger.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

**Uh oh, there I go again! I must be stopped, I swear. **** All right, I didn't want to, but I decided to put make this part into two chapters. It became too long. So in that case, there will be a quicker update…yay! And oh yeah, you can bet a whole lot more shit is happening. Poor boys!**

**And yes there were a lot of memories in here…but that's because I had some tiny issues in the recent episode "Dark Side of the Moon". I sort of wanted to explore that a bit, because I don't believe all of Sam's happy times were just of running away. Cheers Dean, I do think you would have appreciated it. ;p**


	4. Chapter 4

**So I take it, not many people liked the last chapter. The number of reviews slimmed drastically, and it could be that ya'll are busy and it being summer, and all. It's okay, I just wasn't sure! **

**Hopefully you'll like this one better! Cheers!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Dean ducked in time, the spray of buckshot narrowly avoiding his head by a mere inch.

"WHOA! Sammy!"

Sam had reloaded more ammunition by the time Dean stood back up, resuming his full height, "I said…stay back," he gasped, grimacing a bit.

"Sam, put the gun down. I'm not going to hurt you," Dean voiced, spreading out his hands in a placating manner, taking another step forward.

The narrowed gaze and the sudden trigger-happy finger, however, made him take a step back. "Okay. Okay." He licked his lips, thinking hard of someway he can get through to his brother. From the looks of things, Sam had seen and been through so much, it was going to take a lot more than a few heart-lifting words. He looked away, biting his lip, feeling a bit pressured under the gun.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the steady shake in the gun-wielding hand and the half-concealed pant. It didn't take a genius. Sam was exhausted beyond relief, injured, and losing strength quickly.

"Sammy, you're hurt."

"What do you care?" came the gasped spat. "You know, you're really one sick son of a bitch to show up like my brother," he glared dangerously, "I-it won't work on me."

Dean sighed pathetically, half-chuckling a bit. "Sammy. I'm not…I'm not Lucifer."

"Yeah right."

The gun bucked back as another shot rang out and Dean threw himself to the floor in split-second timing. Landing with a great _oomph_, he peered up at the troubled youngster, and shook his head letting out a huff of exasperation. At this rate, sooner or later he was gonna feel that buckshot…and that's never fun.

"Then what do I gotta do to prove it to you?"

"You can hold still," Sam said, letting off another shot.

Dean curled into a tight ball just in time for the pellets to embed in the wall. "Alright!" He called out, taking a breather. "Damn you're scary when you're pissed!"

"Get up," his brother directed.

Faithfully obliging to the order, Dean slowly rose from his fetal position. He kept his eyes trained on his sibling, careful not to make the slightest twitch. "Sammy, I swear it's me," he took a deep breath, "I swear."

The gun remained upright, but Dean could see the glint in Sam's eye suggesting he was intrigued. So he decided to carry on, anything to convince his brother to not blow his balls off. "You were born on the second of May in 1983. I was born on January twenty-fourth in 1979 and our parents were John and Mary. Mom died when you were just six months old and Dad went crazy to find her killer—"

"I know that already. And so does he," Sam glared, his lip trembling.

"Alright, alright. But does he know about the time we stole all those fireworks, snuck out of the house, and burnt down that field?" Dean licked his lips, scanning his memory bank, "Or does he know about the time when I left you in the motel strapped to a chair left to watch nothing but soap operas after one of our prank wars while I went off and had a threesome with a couple of cheerleaders?"

Sam jerked his head, squinting at that remark.

"I mean Hell, you didn't even know what I was up to," he bit his tongue. "Ah shit. You do now!"

"Whatever," Sam huffed. "He's been here for a very long time. And he has had contacts, so I'm sure he knows. We want to get anywhere from this, let me ask you a question?"

Dean couldn't describe what he felt at that statement, but it certainly had his attention. Sam was raising the bar, taking control of the situation. And that represented a slight problem. Regarding the question, everything depended on his answer. If he guessed correctly, then hopefully Sam will have lowered the gun and they sing Hallelujah or something. But if he answered wrong, hmmm…he gulped at that. His brother didn't appear as though he'd be up for an amiable discussion and it terrified him. The only other time he saw someone look like that was his father when he was about to destroy an evil son of a bitch.

He said nothing, except waited for Sam's cue.

Sam shuddered a bit, his eyes closing for a brief second. It was as though any minute he was about to pass out. And just maybe that might have been a good thing. "The time we were in Toledo. My eighth grade science final was the day before we left for that hunt in Jacksonville. What was my score on it?"

Inwardly Dean paled. Outwardly, his expression suggested that he fell off the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way down. Figures the little shit would give him a hard question.

"Are you shitting me? I don't even remember what I did two days ago, let alone something _you_ did almost twenty years ago. Seriously! For all I know, you probably didn't take the damn thing; because Dad back then wouldn't keep you in school long enough to take a damn test."

Sam blinked.

"So go ahead," Dean spread his arms out wide. "Take the shot, cuz I don't know. And…" he paused, noticing the shiny glint of brass on Sam's chest.

Studying the piece of metal, it took him only a second to realize it was in the shape of an amulet, more precisely _his_ amulet. The very one he received as a Christmas gift from Sammy during that time where their Dad hadn't bothered to show up and he snuck out into person's home, stole a couple of gifts for his brother which were revealed to be in the form of a baton and Malibu Barbie.

Only later on during the Apocalypse fiasco, Cass the angel had borrowed it in hopes of using the amulet in finding God. Except when they had learnt of God's message to "Back Off", he decided to throw it away, the metal acting as the symbol of the Man Upstairs' betrayal.

So how was it Sam had it now?

"Hey," he pointed at the necklace. "What are you doing with my necklace? I thought I got rid of that thing. What'd you do? Go dumpster diving and fish it out of the trash?"

In that instant, Sam's face fell, and Dean feared that he might have insulted him. He closed one eye in case, ready for the deep impact of lead. Instead he saw his brother cringe with emotion, letting loose a couple of tears. He didn't know whether to go over and offer comfort, or stand there like a dumbass…except as he learned, he didn't have to. Sam lowered the gun, limped over, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

The hot and sweaty body hovered over him, fists clenched into the fabric of his jacket, with his face buried into his neck. Sam gripped him so tight, it was a good thing he really didn't need oxygen, otherwise _lights out_. Dean stood stunned, unable to comprehend what had just transpired in that moment. Maybe he said the right thing this time.

Relieved, Dean closed his eyes, listening to Sam's sniffles and sobs, clinging his little—giant of a—brother like he had used to when Sam was merely a child. "It's okay," he stroked the back of his head, "I'm here. I'm here now. And I'm not leaving you."

Finally Sam's legs buckled and Dean helped lower him to the ground, continuing his whispers of reassurance. "You're okay now."

Sam slowly pulled back from the embrace, wiped his face, and rested his back against the wall. He said shakily, "Even if you're not real, it's good to see you."

Dean chuckled light-heartedly. "Sammy," he slapped his knee, "As much as it probably pains you, I am real. And we gotta way out of here. You just gotta trust me."

More tears leaked down the sides of the flushed cheeks. It was a standard sign that Sam obviously hadn't believed him just yet. The poor guy still looked as confused as a hooker nun. "But why? How are you here?"

"Take a wild guess. How do I zap anywhere?"

Waiting for the casual nod of understanding and the small smile of relief proved to be useless. If anything, Dean swore the guy paled a shade. The wild look of a cat caught in headlights was hard to mistake. "Are you…" Sam swallowed, "Are you d-dead?"

Okay, he had to admit that question definitely threw him for a loop and tossed him somewhere off to the side. But the realization of it made him slump with dread. Not only did it pain him to see his brother so frail and nearly helpless, but also it explained Sam's current state so much more. Sam thought he was still in Hell, stuck in an eternity of fighting, terror, and always running. He had no idea he was brought back, where all he had to do was wake up and the fight was over. It was heartbreaking.

"No Sam, I'm not dead—"

"Then how?"

"You're not dead either."

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Dean nearly laughed, grasping both of Sam's shoulders, "You're back. And this…" he took a gander around, "this isn't real. It's all in your head."

Sam's lip trembled. "M-my head?"

"Yeah."

"B-but I thought—"

"Well there you go thinking again," Dean interrupted sarcastically. "You don't have to fight no more. This isn't Hell, though I think this would definitely come in runner-up."

"But why does it feel so real?" Wow, Sam sounded so childlike and vulnerable there.

Dean shook his head, "I don't know Sammy. I don't have all the answers. But back on Earth, you're catatonic."

Sam gazed up at him, a whirlpool of puzzlement and suspicion showing off in the mossy green, nearly dumping Dean back on his sore ass. "Catatonic? Why?"

"Yeah, well you haven't eaten your greens in a while. I told you they were important," he smiled.

"Jerk," came the sardonic reply.

Dean leaned closer, picking up Sam's chin. "Again I don't know Sammy. It could be that your body was only able to handle so much. It basically shut down, that way you were able to still fight Lucifer. Cass said you needed help, so…"

"Cass?" Sam looked up.

"Yeah. The man of the hour…"

"He was here?"

"Erm…well, not exactly," Dean pursed his lips, "but he said he talked to you and that's how we found out you needed help."

"That was Cass?" Sam slumped against the wall some more, "I didn't know who I was talking to, but it would explain why you popped up all of a sudden. Is that how you're here? Did you take some kind of dreamroot?"

"Dreamroot?" Dean was appalled. "Oh Hell no! I ain't going anywhere near that jungle juice again. No, Cass gave me a lift."

"Oh. Okay," Sam slurred tiredly, his eyes closing a bit. "Cass. He's a good man."

"Uh…" Dean scratched the back of his head. "Angel. He's a fully-fledged angel again. Don't ask, don't tell."

Apparently that extra tid bit of information was all that the younger Winchester could manage. Dean saw that this was too much for Sam's fragile piece of mind as he looked like he was going to let loose another waterworks show. But it would have to hold off for later. "I'm sorry Sammy, I really am. But we need to get going."

Sam sighed, his chin falling to his chest. "God, I'm so tired," he mewled.

"I get that buddy, I do," Dean rubbed the side of his arm. "And I get that this is all too much for ya, but Lucifer is still here, remember? So we need to go. He might be coming home at any time now."

Sam suddenly shot him a wide stare, and it terrified him all the more when his body began to shake really hard. "Y-you m-mean, you don't k-know where he is?"

Dean grew tense, the hairs on the back of his neck coming to a standstill. He was almost afraid to answer. "No. I lost him a while back…" he stopped short when Sam suddenly grabbed both his arms, and in a gliding smooth action he swore he could've seen in _the Matrix_, stood them both up. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

Sam didn't answer him, but peered at him with his glossy puppy-eyes. Dean felt the tingle in his gut, reading the expression as "It's okay, I don't blame you. I love you."

"Sam."

And when it finally occurred to him what the hell the matter was, it was all too late.

Inside the closed off hallway, a roaring wind erupted through, threatening to topple them over. The banshee-like screech echoed through, piercing into his eardrums, and he couldn't help but to cover his ears. A forceful pounding reverberated all around and it was then Sam stood in front of him, shielding him. The pounding continued, getting harder and harder, the place vibrating in disarray.

But before the force could level the place to the ground, it all stopped. The shaking, the roaring, the gale-like winds…all was put on pause.

Dean looked up, wondering what in the hell had just happened…and then…

_Crash!_

The front end of the hallway exploded into shambles; wood pieces, frayed patches of drywall crumbling into bits, the roaring striking up once again. And then it happened like an on-coming volley, all the doors exploded one by one, the invisible wrecking force speeding towards them.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled.

It was too late. The force had found it's way to them. Dean's head jerked harshly from side to side as a cannon ball of a hit landed its mark on each cheek. The air was suddenly gone as another hit wound its way into his gut, and then he was weightless. The impact of the wall was felt a second later, along with another hit to the floor.

If Lucifer's aim was to vitiate him to the point of immobility…well, he succeeded. Dean couldn't move.

There were more sounds of solid hits, along with a scraping noise. Dean opened his eyes, where he saw his brother dragged across the hallway floor, his feet suspended by some invisible pulley. "Deeeeeaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!"

"Sammy!" Dean struggled to him feet. He took off at a sprint calling out Sam's name. "Hang on Sammy!"

"Dean!"

Lucifer had Sam at the end of the hallway, the only remaining door wide and opened to an impenetrable darkness. Caught onto the doorframe, Sam held on, teeth clenched, his cries growing louder the more the plywood splintered off.

"Sammy, hang on," Dean at last had reached him, tugging on his hands. "I gotcha. I gotcha, pull yourself up dammit!"

And Sam did, he pulled with all his might, kicking his legs with a fury. There was laughter in the background, Sam's body slipping further into the fathomless dark.

"Don't let go Sammy. Don't you dare let go," Dean ordered, his face growing crimson from the strain of holding onto his sibling.

"Dean, WATCH OUT!" Sam screamed.

Dean had no time to comprehend as an outward wall of fire barreled his way from the darkness. The heat and the force was enough to blow him back a few yards, sliding along the floor. However the heat stayed with him, and he was sure it singed off any and all facial hair. Smoke filtered up from his clothes, his chest and arms lit aflame.

"Deeeeaaaaaannnnnn!" Sam screamed one last time.

Dean immediately began to roll, stifling the flames off his body. And when he was sure they were gone, he got back up and ran towards the door. But before he could reach, the frame pried off from the force and Sam was taken into the dark, the door slamming with a loud sonorous shut.

"Sammy! Nooooooo!" the big brother screamed out in a panic. He ran with all his might, prepared to barge through the door. Tucking in, he rammed his weight into the door, several times, but the result was always the same…it wouldn't budge.

"Sammy. Oh God, Sammy," he cried. "Dammit. I led Lucifer straight to him."

**Yep, Sammy's in trouble. I know this was a shorter update. But I think that's what I'm going to try and aim for. Shorter chapters, hopefully mean quicker updates. But we'll see how it goes. Thanks for reading.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm back! Now let's see how our boys square up against the big bad! Alright, just as a warning, there may be some religious content that might spark some opinions. Note that's not the purpose of this fic. I mean no disrespect. Just please keep in mind, it's just a story. Enjoy!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Great volumes of light flashed and knitted amongst the dark sky. Dark billowy masses forged, giving birth to a raging thunder, whilst droves of lightning struck the ground, the Earth given rise to a tremulous clatter. Everything shook. Nothing could hide. Not even the smallest mole rat ducking into its dugout could escape the colossal tremors.

Nothing would…for the storm wasn't natural at all.

Castiel peered out the second story window, intensely studying the violent gale. He made a grunt of disapproval understanding what it meant. And he knew that time now was of the essence, and whatever precious minutes they had were dwindling fast.

He looked up to the ceiling and muttered sternly, "Come on you bastard. Don't you leave me hanging." When he plea went unheard, he forcibly turned back to the window.

Squeaking, like that of a polisher waxing a fiberglass carhood, sounded from his right. He sighed. That was the tenth or so squeak in the last couple minutes. If he heard the teeth-grinding noise again, he'd hurl. Though he wasn't sure if a supernatural being such as the likes of him could perform the human-like reflex, but if his reaction was anything to go by, the angel was sure he could do it.

He turned and saw the clean-shaven car mechanic twisting the oil-filled beer bottle in his hands. As if Cass needed a reminder of the man's threat. The grubby fingers continued to twirl the darkened glass, as though making a subtle tune only he could interpret.

Bobby sat on the edge of the bed staring absent-mindedly ahead. A lot had been on his mind lately: the worst of it were the two unconscious men on the floor just feet away. It had been awhile since he had partaken in the hunting world. A lot of what he had known had died along with his ambition to continue the hunt. But luckily some of his expertise never knew when to call it quits.

However, whatever knowledge he sustained wasn't going to help for this situation. He had no unearthly idea how to help the boys. And the feeling of helplessness ate at his soul greedily; so much he felt he could choke. He understood what was happening and that was worse. All of the books and paranormal paraphernalia he kept now in storage wouldn't have given a single clue either.

All he could do was wait…and it was slowly killing him.

The love he still possessed for the boys had never waned even after that fateful day. Even after he died and miraculously escaped the fiery pit coming back to life, it remained the same. Of all the non-existent phone-calls for the days following, or the very brief mention of the name Winchester, that fatherly love pulsated and flourished through his ethereal soul, keeping him alive and headstrong.

With that love still trucking strong, it further crippled his core to see the two Winchesters struggling again.

He knew in his mind and his heart that possibly things will never be the same—and a small part of him hoped this to be the case. His hunting days were over. It should be the same for the boys. They had dealt with enough from the preternatural world over the span of their lives. So, in hopes and prayers, he wanted nothing more than his boys to pull through this, so they can live the lives they so deserved.

He honed in on that last thought. Yeah, _his_ boys!

Bobby then caught the creepy set of eyes staring at him. Unperturbed, he asked, "So are we in trouble?"

Cass casually glanced away back at the window, watching more of the lightning storm. "I know not what you mean."

The former hunter sent a sour glare towards the angel. "I may not be what I used to, but I can still detect bullshit a mile away, and it don't mean I'm dumb. The worst kinds of storm we get around here are tornadoes, and this is nothing like that. So what is it?"

The angelic being said nothing, instead looked to the two silent Winchesters over in the corner. Dean's head still lie upon his brother's knee, his face smooth and tranquil. Sam continued to ogle the bland wall beneath the window, devoid of all consciousness. Cass glanced again at Sam and he appeared bothered. "Something's not right."

Immediately Bobby stood up. "What do you mean?"

Again Cass said nothing but strode over to the wall. "I can feel it. Something—"

Just then Sam emitted out a loud, soul-cringing gasp. His eyes flew wild, his body going rigid falling back onto the floor. And before Bobby and Cass could reach him, the unyielding stiffness morphed into a full-blown Grand Mal seizure.

Cass was the first to reach him and he grabbed for the flailing head.

"Don't touch him," Bobby shouted. It wasn't a harsh, paranoid demand, more of a concerned instructional order. "You have to let it pass."

The angel did as told, but kept his hands spread over the sides of Sam's head. It intrigued him to see this uncontrollable action, more importantly it was querying in what was causing it. He peered into the worried face of Bobby Singer, and waited for the cue, as he too had no idea of what to do.

A minute went by—though it seemed longer—and the seizure came to an inevitable end. Sam finally became still, his eyes at half-mast, his body producing the occasional twitch.

Bobby passed a glance at Dean, who seemingly had remained the same. He looked back to Cass, "What in the Hell just happened?"

"Let me find out," Cass replied placing delicate hands onto the sides of Sam's head. He bent his head down, his eyes closed in deep concentration. After another couple of seconds or so, the doughy blues made their grand appearance again. "He's still alive…but—"

No one was prepared when Cass suddenly took flight across the room, landing on the desk. Bobby ran over, pulling the dizzy being to his feet. "Okay. Mind telling me what in the Hell was that?"

Cass stumbled over his loafers, his eyes wide and glossy. "Uh…" he swallowed the lump in his throat, "I got too close. He tried to pull me in, but I pulled out in time…a little too roughly I think."

"You think?" Bobby reiterated, gazing at the smashed pieces of what remained of his desk.

Cass coughed, resuming his full height. "He knows I'm here…" he suddenly paused, turning a fretful eye to the window. "Oh my God," he cried and ducked, pulling Bobby down with him.

A flash, red-hot and bright as the sun, pummeled into the house; a deafening roar chorused loudly biting at their ears. An explosion of ash, burnt and smoking wood pieces showered over them, leaving them choking on the noxious fumes.

Another flare was coming. An undulating, flickering light shone on the walls, growing bigger and bigger, until it infiltrated any and all darkness in the small room. The heat was unimaginable, licking angrily at their skin. Cass waved a hand, and the fireball left, as though it bounced off an invisible trampoline, flying back towards its launchers.

"Cass, what's going on?" Bobby yelled.

"They're here," he answered, raising both hands, mumbling a few choices phrases in Enokian.

"Who's here?" Bobby asked, stepping a foot away from the hole in the wall. "Lucifer's henchmen. How many are there?"

The angel didn't immediately answer.

Bobby turned. "Cass, how many?" A disconsolate gaze fell upon him and he could've sworn the anvil dropped through his stomach and punched a hole right through him.

"All of them."

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," Dean blared in a litany, pacing back and forth with his hands scrunched in his hair. He had been pacing for a good five minutes since the door had slammed to a close, taking his brother with it. His core was numb. Never had there been a time when he had felt this much despair. He had led the enemy straight to his exhausted, injured brother.

"SHIT!"

_Sammy, please forgive me…I didn't think._

That was for sure. He was so consumed with worry and determination to find Sam that he fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. No wonder Lucifer had let him go so easily. He stated himself that Sam was one tough SOB to find. Only with him Sam would let his guard down, and that was _what_ exactly happened.

He kicked the wall just for the added pleasure of pain to serve as partial punishment. With the pain throbbing in his big toe, he paused to think. Thinking would only get him so far, but now was the time to adopt a strategy. Pacing and cursing nine times the dozen wasn't going to get him anywhere either, except for his mouth and an appointed meeting with Lisa's dishsoap.

_Okay, big bad has Sammy. Fucker is probably tearing him to shreds as we speak…dammit Dean! Think positively. Sammy needs ya. Give him credit where it's due. He's tough as a brick wall; so he can hold on a little while longer…now THINK!_

The pacing now resumed, he skimmed through his cranial bank fast. A plan was good. Plans, if they went according to, always worked. Monster slain, vic rescued, time to go get a beer. Yeah, typical plans work.

But now was a tad different. For one, he was inside his brother's head, a figment, vapor, or merely a thought process. Two, both he and Sam were up against the biggest baddest foe humanity had ever seen. And three, he was stuck in Bobby's hallway.

So much for brawns to get him anywhere.

A few more minutes went by and nothing came to mind. The hallway before him still lay in shambles. The doors around were floating bits leading to nothing but an abysmal darkness. The simple thought of stepping into the inhabiting dark immediately went astray for his feet quivered at the notion. The only door that was the least bit appealing was the very one Sam disappeared through, the only one left.

So much for brains either.

Left with no other option, Dean blew out a big breath. Eying the black egress with a look of pure contempt, he lifted the back of his heels, ready to sprint. Slightly bent, he took off, body tense for the collision, his legs sprinting a mile apart. He closed his eyes for the presumable fracturing encounter, and…

**Slam!**

A wretched pain-filled cry rang long and loud, rattling the cracked and splintered walls. Dean grimaced and moaned, clutching onto his probable broken shoulder and slid down the vinyl-coated door. Unintentionally, a whine escaped and he grabbed the appendage tighter, waiting mercifully for the fiery hot pain to subside.

A noise, like no other noise he could differentiate, suddenly echoed through the dim-lit space. He perked up, listening intently. Several seconds later, the noise became a barely audible voice. Soon it grew louder and louder, more pronounced and distinguishable. It said:

_Dean._

Dean continued to listen for it, his mind taut, eager, and attentive. It called again and Dean instantly leapt to his feet. He now recognized who was calling and it was none other than Sammy.

Turning around, his feet took the brunt of the impacts as he barreled into the still frame several times, calling out his brother's name. He charged, ramming his non-pulsating shoulder, and did any and all he could to break the damn thing down.

"Sammy!" he yelled with all his might. "Sammy! Hang on, I'm coming."

"Deeaaaaannnnnn!" he heard the call again.

"SAM…ARGHHHH!" Emitting out a cry, only thunder from the gods could match, his foot smashed through the wood. Giving into another few good kicks, the door was on the brink of shattering. Having lost so much time, Dean took a running step back and sprinted forward again.

This time the door would be no match…

This time he barged through…

And this time he kept falling…

Hurricane-like forces raged all around him. Bits of debris or rock or whatever that was hard barreled into him, knocking his breath out. It was so dark, not even a nocturnal animal with eyes the size of UFOs could see. His body twisted and catapulted, making him queasy, and yet he continued to fall. Straight down in the pit, in which he could only surmise, was the same pit Sam took a plunge into three years previously.

Dean screamed. Any other time, he'd take it like a man. But there was no time to act all masculine. He was falling fast…and probably to his death. _At least this time, it'd be quick._

He waited for the brain splattering hit, and for the subsequent heat, the fire, the soon-to-be sizzling and blistering skin, just in time for it to be sloughed off with a sadistic razor by a deranged demon to come. He waited for his memories of Hell to parade back, to addle his mind, to forsake his mentality…

But none of that came.

The portal vanished and he zapped out into the day sky, much like something you'd see in _Dr. Who_. Except there wasn't any fluffy flight down or some Mary Poppin's way of softly landing onto manicured grass. No, like in _Army of Darkness_, he took the _Bruce Campbell_ face-planting landing: the hard, tooth knocking, rib crushing, and manhood demolishing one.

Dean coughed, a tuft of thin grass fluttering in the air. Achingly when he sat up, the first thing he checked for was his teeth, to see if they were still in tact, as it felt like the entire front layer all had been knocked out. The second was his two little boys down below. God only knew he had to make sure they were okay. Once all was in sure working order, he looked up and his mind spun once more.

He was now in a neighborhood…more specifically his favorite one, the homely suburbia in northern Alabama, Crisco. Yeah, the one named after a cooking agent!

Rising up off the lawn, he looked all around. Straight and cared-for lawns, expensive gardens, trees at each property, the neat sidewalks, red doors, and large two-story houses…it was indeed his neighborhood alright. This place had seemed like it was too expensive to set up shop in, but its look were always deceiving. Even the lowest of the low could afford a spot, and that was what John had done. He had found a spot at the cul-de-sac of this particular. A person had needed a roommate and for $350 a month, the boys had found another home for a whole six months.

The moisture in Dean's eyes developed another coat. It had been too long since he had been there, their move having been an abrupt one. Never before during his previous life would he willingly admit he missed Crisco…but now he could. He terribly missed this place, it forever taking a place in his fragile heart.

Rubbing his nose, he took a massive sniff, eradicating any and all emotion elicited from the memory. Like before, there was a time and place to cry, and this was not it. He had to find Sam and oust Lucifer once and for all—God, that sounded so cheesy!

"Dean!"

As if on cue for his dallying thoughts, there was the call. He continued onward. The diminutive echo of his brother's voice sounded again and he took off at jog. "Keep shouting Sammy. I'll find ya."

"Where, where, where, where," he muttered, running up the street, peering into everyone's lawns and windows, searching for any sign of his distressed kin. An old woman had stepped out and he accidentally ran into her. "Oh sorry, Mrs. Flannerty!"

Mrs. Flannerty, a seventy-year old woman, gazed back at him with large bubbly baby blue eyes. He remembered her most as the old bag who sometimes babysat he and Sam, and would fatten em' up with her usual batch of homemade cookies. She was sweet and always had smelt of peppermint, but what he loved most about her was she had a large collection of classic car models, and each and every one of them had a story.

"There Dear. You gave the flabby lady such as myself a fright. Do be careful," she advised in a sweet gardeners' tone.

"Will do Ma'me."

She flashed a big toothy grin and shortly raised the basket of goodies, which Dean quickly noticed were his favorite: Peanut M&M and Peanut Butter. "Have a cookie. They're fresh too. Just come out of the oven."

"No thanks Mrs. F.," Dean moved to the side of her, "Sammy's in trouble again, and I gotta go."

"Oh but Dear, do try one. You look like you could use the energy."

"Nah, I'm fine!" He went ahead, but was pulled back. Alarmed, he looked into the face of the wrinkly old woman. Sam's voice echoed behind him and he stepped forward, keeping his eyes trained on the memory. The woman's hand remained firm around his bicep.

"You really should stay son," the luminous smile continued. Her grip tightened.

"Yeah," two little boys joined them. Dean recognized them as the bleach-haired Colbert twins he and Sam usually played with as children. "Please stay Dean. You can stay with us," they said in unison, also adopting mischievous grins, which was just downright creepy.

Dean's spidey senses were tingling. Something obviously wasn't right and he was caught right in the middle of it.

"Uh no. Guys, I gotta go," he steadily stated ready to bolt. Which was a good thing.

The memories faces all began to change. Their skin suddenly began to pale, turning ashen. Their cheeks and eyes sinking into their skulls, their teeth bare and filing down to triangular points. Dean yanked his arm out of the wench's hand, standing back and seeing the people, whom once he loved and adored, were now something revolting.

All the while they changed into something gaunt and inhuman, the boys' voices echoed repeatedly "stay with us…stay with us…stay with us."

Dean didn't need to hear Sam calling his name a third time. He bolted again, only now in slight fear. He had nowhere in mind to go, nowhere he could think as safe hiding, but one thing was sure: he wasn't going to stick around to find out. As he passed the houses along the street, all the neighbors came out their door, once healthy and picture-perfect, now were emaciated skeletal versions of their former selves.

As he ran, so did the things. Snarling and spitting out goo, the things, obviously Lucifer's gung-ho pen pals, ran fast, swiping their jagged claws, as if running for food. Dean ran faster, finding this moment oh-so-familiar. Sam's cries kept him going. Hearing the loud echo of his baby brother lengthened his stride.

Some of the _Pandorum_-resembling creatures howled, taking charge, a few gaining on him. A small girl, little Cara Petrey he remembered, only the scary fucked-up version jumped from her usual tree, sailing past him leaving fives tiny or so gouges across the length of his back.

However much it hurt, he kept going. He was tired of being something else's lunchmeat.

Heading straight for the cul-de-sac with the fifty or so ferocious fiends on his ass, he knew right where to go. Like a lightbulb at the top of his head that finally sparked on, his long legs carried on towards his old house. That was a safe zone. He knew it had to be. Why else would the idea form?

It was almost as if his brother was looking out for him. Just the grand sight of his old in-need-of-refurbishing home made him feel light on his feet. That was the cue and he took it.

He ran in through the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and closed it. The many monsters ran into it. His feet slid from the onslaught. He grunted, keeping his weight applied to the door. It bounced and rang unmercifully from the many fists, the other many screeches and hollers stabbing at his eardrums.

_What the hell _are_ those things? Eh, well, I really don't want to know!_

He turned around and leaned, rocking furiously with the harmonious beating session. Glancing to his left he saw a cedar chair. He pulled it up, leaning it beneath the doorknob and let go. The force applied and the chair hadn't broken. He was good to go!

Turning around, Dean wasn't at all surprised to see the scenery had changed compared to what he was expecting. Instead of a rundown kitchenette to the side, a splotched carpet and nicotine-stained walls, he was in a much different setting. A homely setting, with a mahogany staircase to the side, a seventies appeal to the living room on the left—complete with the bunny-ears cable television—and a modern dining room just beyond the stairs. In fact, it was almost too familiar…

It took him maybe a split-second to figure it out…he was in Lawrence. Home.

Sam's whisper was heard up above. He looked skyward just as a cannon-like _boom_ occurred, raucousing the entire household. Shouts and gruesome cries of anguish followed a second later along with more cataclysmic _booms_. Some sort of hellacious fight had to be going on from the floor up. He took the stairs two at a time. Turning down the familiar hallway, he followed as the _bangs_, _scrapes_, and more _shouts_ continued. The tremors in the house escalated to the point that any minute the house was going to level to the ground.

They soon fell silent, but Dean knew where they were coming from. Heading straight for the nursery, his foot came up and swiftly kicked the door in. The place was empty. Everything was in tact from the nursery stationed in the middle to the dresser of baby accessories on the sidewall. No Lucifer. No Sam. No revolting teeth-monsters. Not a peep.

"Sammy?"

No answer.

_What the Hell? Did he miss him?_

Coughing brought his attention to the other side of the nursery. And there he found Sam, on the ground, bloody, bruised, and possibly broken beyond relief. A mix between blood and sweat coated his entire facial complexion making his pained grimace seem twice as bad. His arm was held against his chest and a trickle of blood bubbled past his lip.

"Oh man, Sam," Dean knelt by his side, pulling the limp torso onto his knees. He frowned, wiping the reddened smears with his jacket sleeve. "Ah shit Sammy. Hang on, Imma gonna clean ya up."

Sam coughed, a small smile working its way through the battered flesh. "I…I…t-tried."

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh," Dean cooed. "Ya did good. Gave it your all. Nobody else could've done what you did. Is he gone?"

"No." Sam coughed again, more blood spilling out his mouth. He peered at him through glassy slits. "Y-you s-said this was a dream. That…that it…w-was all in my head."

"Yeah, I did. It is," he reassured, now pulling back Sam's blood-caked bangs.

"It doesn't feel like a dream…"

"No, don't you say that. What I said was true. And you're gonna beat this. Keep fighting Sammy. We'll get him together," Dean stated, lifting his brother into his arms, ceasing the action when Sam moaned in pain. "It's okay. I'm here now and I'm not leaving ya."

Flutters of wings floated on the air, making them both tense with nervousness. A deep-throat growl reverberated and then there was that still spine-chilling voice that made his skin crawl.

"Ah so touching. Another family reunion, right back where it all started," there was a weird "mmm" noise and the natural healthy version of "Nick" came through the door. Dean didn't know what to expect what sort of form dear ole Lucy would take, but he figured the powerful being would take something else than the poor guy he rode for so long.

Lucifer gazed down at the body of Nick, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah I know. _That's so yesterday_, right? Need to find something new. Well, you see I could take many shapes. But as Sam only knew me in this form, that's what I appear to both him and you. For instance," he morphed into Sam's tall form, "You, Dean, also knew me in this suit."

Dean gritted his teeth, a bit taken back at seeing Lucifer as his brother again, speaking with Sam's voice. That feeling changed when Lucifer changed back into Nick. "But I think that would be a bit of a challenge, seeing two of us. Come on Dean, I'm that mean."

Dean snarled. "Fuck You."

Lucifer flinched, his lip curling. "Ew. No thank you," he replied causing Dean to roll his eyes. "I see you're still upset for my rather violent conniption. I really hadn't meant to hit you so hard, but you did interrupt something I had been waiting on for a very long time. It was very rude you know."

Sam stirred in Dean's grasp. He looked down and muttered, "No Sam. Stay still."

"Yes Sammy," Lucifer hissed gleefully, "Let's not make this too complicated for you. You might not make it through the next round." He walked further into the room where Dean saw the several bruises and abrasions and he made a proud smile for Sam. _Atta boy!_

Dean then found his voice. "Cut the crap. Why are you doing this?"

"Oh Dean. We're not going to go with the traditional villain revealing of the nefarious plot monologue just to stall, are we? That's so cliché," Lucifer spoke, glaring at him condescendingly.

"Then what do you want?" Dean pulled Sam closer to his chest when the poor guy began to shiver.

"What I want," the fallen angel repeated tapping his chin with an awkwardly bent finger. "Hmm, I must say no one has ever asked me that before. Hmm, what I want…" he trailed shaking his head as though in discontent, "It's too late for that now. All that time in exile. All because I said No?" he huffed. "Well of course, I've done a little more than that, but nothing that required that severe of a punishment—"

"You brought on the Apocalypse. You were gonna fry the world as one big shiskabob. No, you definitely should've just received the Dunce Hat," Dean said. He didn't mean to say it, but like most sarcastic things he has said all through the years, it just popped out.

Lucifer looked the least bit pleased. "You think you're funny," he nodded. "I think you're funny. Most of everyone else would cower at my feet, cutting his or her tongues out, but you? I like you. I knew I spared you for a reason."

Dean almost vomited at the confession.

"But as I was saying, for thousands of years, all that time I waited, I wanted nothing more than a second chance…"

_Oh here we go, more sympathy for the devil crap_, Dean thought.

"You humans get other chances. Why, you maggots receive chance after chance. Murderers. Rapists. All can be forgiven. Why must my brothers and sisters and I be any different?" he looked away, his deep brooding eyes glistening with nostalgia. "Just to see those gates again. A chance to speak with my father, to explain…"

"That was your choice buddy," Dean interrupted again. He certainly wasn't in the mood to hear any more of Lucy's emo crap. "You chose to live in darkness and despair. You chose to defy God and bring on this whole mess. All it is, is just one big temper-tantrum. Well I got news for you pal. Get a happy pill. They come by the dozen now-a-days."

"Tell me something Dean. Have you ever wanted something so badly you'll do anything to get it?" the Angel questioned, leaving Dean rather speechless. "Oh yes, I can sense you know the feeling. Well Sammy's gonna help me get it."

"I don't think so."

"Oh and who's going to stop me, you? Please, don't make me laugh…oh," he paused, chuckling a bit. "I seemed to have fallen into my own monologue trap, how silly of me? Well I suppose that was inevitable. I am the villain, after all. Um Sam, I wouldn't be doing that. I don't think you'll be able to manage it."

Dean instantly looked down and he saw Sam's face twisted in concentration, his injured arm stuck out. He jerked back at seeing the state of his brother's eyes: his irises were glowing icy blue. Sam then muttered something Dean couldn't hear and he threw out his arm, and suddenly Lucy was thrown back flying through the wall, where nothing but a large block was missing.

Sam then fell limp.

The blood drained from Dean's face and he shook his brother with vigor. Sam looked to be dead, having spent his last breath in propelling the big bad away. "No Sam no! Wake up. Wake up," Dean nearly shouted. He shook Sam again, willing the guy to open his purpled eyes.

After a few more seconds of trying, the slits reappeared, his eyes returned to the normal mossy green. Dean sighed with relief. He asked, "Are you okay?"

The lips parted, but there was a hesitant breath. Eventually Sam croaked out, "Y-yea."

Dean smiled. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Heh," his brother hiccupped. "I had a lot of time to practice," he whispered.

"Okay good. All right buddy, I've had just about as much fun as I can stand in your weirdo head. Time to wake up now," he looked down at him, but Sam wasn't looking at him, and if at all possible, had paled another shade.

Dean looked up and who he saw standing there made him quiver with consternation. "Mom?"

There she was, tall and beautiful, in her white nightgown, and she was giving that radiant smile of hers that would always make him melt. Carefully Dean set Sam to the side as though captivated by her presence, despite Sam's protests, and stood up, star-struck. "Mom?" he said again.

"Get AWAY!" Sam yelled.

Dean turned back to Sam. "What? Why?"

Mary changed. Her hair wilted away, the cheeks sunken in with black holes for eyes and her hands withered into skeletal paws with claws. Dean hadn't any time to react. The woman he once adored grabbed the sides of his arms, piercing the blackened nails into his flesh and bit a great chunk out of his shoulder.

"Dean!" Sam called weakly.

Dean flailed. Blood spurted up like a geyser, drenching both he and the thing. The bite screamed bloody-murder and he went all kung fu. He kicked the crazy fiend in the stomach, sending her back a few feet, when a nasty dizziness assaulted him. He teetered for a second before regaining his footing.

The woman was back, screeching and swiping her massive talons. He blocked the few hits; feeling a spearing headache begin to brew and his legs became wobbly. _Oh, this can't be good._

He went over to the dresser, picked up the lampshade and struck it over the woman's head. It did nothing to faze her, except piss her off.

She came at him again and this time struck home. Diving in with mouth poised for a tasty bite, she latched onto his thigh, taking hold with the force of a pitbull. He screamed out, elbowing her in the head, but it proved to be futile. The thing wouldn't relent.

"Dean!" his brother called to him again.

The wooziness he felt earlier now tripled and he felt faint. His legs buckled and he fell, his body—or really thought projection—vulnerable for the feast, which no doubt was to come. The fiend released her grip and hovered over him with a look of pure mirth. _This is it! He was about to become something else's meal!_

She bent down, mouth spread open privy for the next bite…

…but she didn't get that far.

A large body appeared next to her and she looked on in interest. It was Sam with his arm raised, complete with a look of fury. "Get away from my brother," he said devilishly.

The monster didn't know what hit her. There was a flash of light from the extended hand, a shriek, and the thing was gone. Sam trembled, faltering a bit, but he remained upright.

Dean still felt faint. He had to fight hard to keep his eyes open. He looked down and saw his fingers were twitching horribly. Whatever the evil bitch had, he was sure to have it now. _Crud! That damn bitch probably gave me something. Now I gotta get screened. Gross!_

"Dean, you alright?" Sam gasped.

"Yeah I'm cool Sammy. Just was knocked off my ass by a ninety-pound hermit, but I'll be fine," was what he wanted to say, but all that came out sounded like a forced gurgle. Oy! He really didn't like this.

"Come on, we gotta go," his brother said shakily extending out a hand for him, when suddenly there was a strange wind. They both looked on out the door of the nursery. The wind picked up as if there was some swirling vortex. Both boys didn't know what to expect.

It happened so fast neither saw it coming. A blur fleeted by and the next thing Dean or Sam comprehended was Lucifer pinning Sam against the wall. He had him wedged in so tight Sam couldn't breathe. He kicked out his lanky legs, but they, too, were also proved incapacitated.

"Told you your little trick wouldn't keep me away for long," he gloated with no sense of mercy in his eyes, "Now to finish this."

**I hope it was okay. Yeah, Sammy's still in trouble! What'd you expect? **

**Okay, here's the thing guys. Obviously this is taking me forever to update. At this rate, by the time I do finish this it'll be September and I don't want to do that. So I've decided to just go ahead and finish it. This way, I won't take so long in going back and forth and I can concentrate on one story at a time and finish them quickly. How's that sound? So yes, to my other readers, I won't update the other one for a bit, at least until this one is complete. Don't worry too much, this has only got a few more to go! **

**The next one will be up relatively quickly. Thanks so much for reading, and I'll see ya soon! **


	6. Chapter 6

**Things begin to heat up for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~  
**

"Now to finish this."

Sam's legs no longer kicked. His lower half fell limp, but his top half continued to struggle. His mouth was open, fighting hard to breathe. Lucifer leaned further into the wall, squandering whatever air was left.

"Oh come now Sam. Enough already," the Devil proclaimed. "We're two halves of a whole, remember? Why—" he pressed in harder—"Keep. Fighting?"

Sam gurgled, his face darkening to a bright mauve. "D-dean."

The languid brother on the ground blinked. Caught in the throes of numbness, he fought to regain his equilibrium. Everything was out-of-sync, spinning; sound coming off as that of something underneath water. To be called disoriented would have put it mildly.

He looked up and caught a peek of the action above. His heart sank like a lead weight. Sam was dangling like a freshly killed critter, his struggling growing weaker by the second, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. The pervasive tingling from his thigh worsened and he knew his bottom half was completely paralyzed. His left side had already became listless, the poison or whatever it was spreading fast throughout his body.

But he had to think of something. For Sammy's sake, something had to come to mind. Unconsciously his other hand took out the golden talisman. He hadn't a clue if it would work, but still, there were no other options left.

Lucifer cocked his head, his lips widening into a catty grin. "You know, I grow tired of these games. I don't want to do this anymore, to fight you. I really don't. But I've had enough. I want out!"

Sam's eyes grew wide when his nemesis pulled back a fist, poising it to deliver a fatal blow.

But before the fist swung, Dean immediately began to recite the _Enokian_ passage to open the portal to Hell. How he remembered the despicable phrase was beyond him, but the words rolled off his tongue with little effort.

Lucifer stopped and lowered his gaze to the man below. Sam lost consciousness and hung in his grip, not at all distracting him. He raised a thin eyebrow. "Hymph. I wonder if you're recent alcohol obsession killed off most of what little brain matter you had Dean. That invocation won't work here. Especially when you don't have the Horseman's Rings to open the gate. Why, I've never seen something so silly in all my thousands of years."

Dean grinned, finishing the rest of the incantation except for the last word. He could barely understand what the Fallen Angel was saying, but that wasn't the point. The whole point was to keep Lucifer's attention occupied while his hand—talisman wrapped around his wrist— surreptitiously latched onto Sam's suspended foot.

His smile widened. "Sike!" He exclaimed and then at the top of his lungs announced, "_In nomen of Josafna. Solvo nos_."

…and away they went, with Dean still grinning like a mad Buffoon at the Devil's indignant cries.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

**Crash!**

"We're getting hammered here!"

**Boom! Smash! Boom!**

"I know. Give em' all you have!"

"No shit Sherlock…whoa!"

**Psshhh…Boom!** There was another explosion and the top right of the roof disappeared. The ceiling trembled greatly from the impact, showering everyone with bits of plaster.

"My house is not going to take much more of this. We got to go!" Bobby bellowed, aiming his shotgun through the cracked window and letting off a shot. "Why aren't the wards working?"

Cass stood before the smoking hole in the wall. He muttered an incantation and a quarter of the demon army stationed just outside the home all were expelled, great plumes of black smog floating in the air above their captive vessels.

He lowered his hands. "Because there aren't only angels and demons here. They brought others. Some of them are witches. That's what is counteracting against my shields. Others I can't make out," he answered.

Bobby was stunned. Witches? Others? This didn't make any sense. "Why now would they begin to work together? And why are the angels doing this? I thought it was over for them."

"Not all; only those who are devotedly loyal to their duty. Their sole mission is to destroy anything that threatens or can threaten Heaven or the Earthly plain," Cass glanced back at Bobby. "As for the others, Sam poses an even greater threat to them all. They believe that if he somehow had defeated the Devil, their leader, he may very well take them all out. I'm sure the demons are behind the reasoning for their allegiance. He—"

One of Bobby's rusty old trucks took flight towards the house, smashing into the invisible shield. Cass dodged to the side as flaming shrapnel jettisoned into the opening.

Cass took a deep breather. "I agree. We're outnumbered and we need to go somewhere where they can't follow."

"You have anything in mind?"

"I do."

"Well alright then, make like a tree and get on with it!"

At that moment, Dean gasped awake, his body arching up into a sitting position. He immediately became aware of the wading cesspool of a situation they were in when a piece of ceiling broke off and split over his head. Going cross-eyed, he grabbed his head and fell to the floor.

"Dean. You're back!" Bobby exclaimed racing over to him. "Come on boy, get up! We gotta go!"

The house shook violently and an angry roar sounded from the outside. Cass continued to chant some more. Light formed at his palms every few seconds, followed by harrowing screams.

Dean looked up with a weary eye, still clutching his head. "What the hell is going on Bobby?"

"Demon brigade son. They found us!" Bobby pulled him back up.

"Already! Well that's just great!" Dean then crawled over to his brother, whom was lying flat in between the wall and the bed. He was awake, his eyes swiveling frantically within their sockets as though he were a small child afraid. "Sammy, you okay?"

Another explosion occurred behind them forcing them all to duck. Dean leaned in closer to Sam. "Sammy, come on. We gotta go."

His brother appeared worried, which under the circumstances seemed reasonable, but it didn't quell the niggling feeling Dean acquired in his gut. "What is it?"

Sam didn't answer. Instead his breathing became labored and he moaned in pain, whereas his body suddenly began uncontrollable shakes.

"Sam?" Dean grabbed a hold of his quivering fist, feeling the heat pulse off of it, making it hard to grasp. He peered up at Bobby, praying the man would tell him what to do, at the very least say to him "it's the just the adrenaline wearing off. He'll be fine". But none of that was said as his mentor, himself, appeared concerned and at a loss of what to do.

In between the harsh pants, Sam croaked through clenched teeth, "De—…g-g-gooooo."

Another fireball hit the house, shattering all the windows inside the room forcing Bobby to head back to his post. Dean had to lean in closer. "What?"

"G-goooo!" Sam yelled, his face scrunched in pain.

Worry and overall fear knitted Dean's brow. "Sammy. I don't…what's—"

"Run," his brother gasped, drawing his knees to his chest. "He's…" he gritted his teeth again, emitting a pained wail, "break…out. Oh G-god! He's…he's c-coming. Run!"

Dean's legs turned to jelly and his eyes welled up. "I can't."

Sam gasped, his eyes widening. "No. No. _Gah_—RUNNNN!" His torso arched off the ground, his face turning a shade of crimson.

"What's happening?" Dean cried in a panic, grabbing at Sam who began to thrash. Several screams of horrendous torture tore through his throat, which Dean swore could've shredded his vocal cords.

Cass ceased his current death defining assault and glided over, staring in horror. "Dean, get away from him! It's Lucifer trying to free himself!"

"What?" Dean screeched, unable to believe what he had just heard.

"You didn't kill him?"

Sam let out another wail. Hardly able to stray from his sibling, Dean pulled him into his lap and held him tight. Sam's body continued to tremble, resembling much of an epileptic fit. He looked to Cass one more time. "Is there anything you can do?"

Cass was about to answer when Sam suddenly began to cough up blood. Large reddish gobs dribbled past his lips, splashing the front of his shirt. Then more red liquid began to ooze down his nose and out of his ears. Dean grabbed a cloth sitting on top of the nightstand and began to sponge it off. But to no avail, Sam continued to bleed. "Ah shit Sam. Hang on!"

"Hold him down. I might try something," Cass said kneeling by his side, flexing a hand over the heaving chest.

But to their deepest surprise, Sam emitted another heart-rending cry and his body suddenly launched toward the ceiling, smacking into it with enough force to loosen more of the plaster, and fell back with a great backbreaking thud. He did it a second time and his head split open, leaving behind a splatter of red. Back on the ground, Sam grabbed at the wooden flooring as whatever unseen force then dragged him away and threw him against the opposite wall.

"SAMMY!" Dean ran after him.

There was no time. Sam sailed again and Bobby ducked in time before his large frame careened into the drywall, afterward he landed onto his side. More blood poured from Sam's mouth as he slowly succumbed to more of the violent bursts from the Devil, his body bucking spasmodically.

Dean couldn't believe it. It was like watching his brother back in the panic room having a demonic seizure, the demon blood residing in his system bouncing him off the walls. Sam had dropped to the floor and both he and Bobby pounced on him. Dean wrapped his arms around his chest, whilst Bobby mainly lain upon his side, keeping him saddled to the floor.

"It's okay. It's okay," Dean said to him quickly. "We gotcha. We gotcha," he turned to Cass who had taken up his guardianship duty again, "Cass! Do something!"

The angel had taken his eyes off the battle for a brief second. The sound of flapping wings and a howling like that of thousands of blood-curdling screams reverberated through the room and suddenly Cass was pinned to the floor next to the bed. A massive black shoe shown on his chest and Cass peered up into the eyes of his enemy. The dark pits shown with triumphant delight, the smile of victory none too appealing on the dark face.

Dean felt the hollowness of his stomach fill with lead. It didn't take a genius to figure out who or what the black man standing on top of Cass was. They had only trapped him in a circle of holy fire approximately four years ago.

"Castiel," the Archangel called in his deep brutish tone. "Well I have to say this has been long overdue."

"Raphael," Cass spat, glowering with hatred. "Good to see you're still flapping around. Glad to see you picked a side."

"Indeed," Raphael answered, a light appearing in his eyes. "Not at all surprised if I might say so. You always were a traitor to the cause, always willing to give everything up for these pesky monkeys."

"Yeah, well…" Cass smirked, clutching the large foot. "At least I do so in style…Ass-butt!" He waved a hand and the Archangel shot through the roof, leaving a massive hole.

"Cass!" Dean called from the floor, still keeping his shaking sibling tight against his chest.

"Go! He'll be back," Cass leapt to his feet. "I'll hold em' off. Get to the basement. Go now!"

The sound of Raphael's thunderous war cry pierced through their ears. He dove in through the opening, grabbed a hold of Cass's head and hauled him through the wall into the next room.

"CASS!" Dean screamed.

"Go. Now!" he heard his friend yell back along with several thudding whacks.

Dean wasn't wasting any time. Along with Bobby's help, he pulled his faltering brother to his feet, looping a quivering arm around his shoulder. And together they began to escort Sam out of the room. Sam moaned and gasped with each staggering step, the blood profusely trickling down his face.

"Come on Sammy. You can do it," Dean reassured. "Let's move a little faster, huh?"

The three men hadn't even reached the door when loud raged-filled roars sounded. They turned to see large, moldy clothing laden, twisted snout Rawheads jump through the hole in the wall. And all three simultaneously let off earth-quaking roars, revealing their mustard-colored serrated canines.

Bobby released his grip from under Sam's arm and aimed at the middle of the three. The buckshot knocked it down just as the other two advanced. He put another round into the one of the left, closing the door when the third leapt like a cat. It barreled into the door and the large structure exploded outward knocking into the old man. He lost his footing and fell backward, bowling into the two Winchesters and they all tumbled down the stairwell.

White-hot pain exploded in Dean's back as they finally hit the bottom step and he rolled over suppressing a loud pain-filled scream. The pain began to subside after a moment, but it was enough to render him incapable of moving. He reached out and softly patted a head. Not knowing who's head it was, only that it was either Sam or Bobby, he continued to pat. "G-guys. Ow! Come on, get up!"

Someone groaned.

That had to be Bobby. Only he would have said "_Holy Jumped Up Jesus Bald-headed Palomino_, that hurt like a sum bitch!"

Dean struggled into a sitting position, opening his eyes, and seeing the three at the base of the stairs sprawled on top of one another. Bobby, grumbling about his aches, pulled himself out of the Winchester tangle. Noticing Sam lying on his stomach, Dean reached over and pulled Sam's hair away from his face. He looked like he was KO'd. "Sammy? Sammy?" he shook his shoulder, growing paranoid. "Sam!"

Finally Sam moaned. _Oh Thank God!_

"Bobby. Help me get him up," Dean commanded as he attempted to roll his sibling over.

Hisses. Strange piston-like hisses sounded. Dean looked all around for the source. He glanced up at the top of the stairs, thinking it were the rawheads—but even they couldn't hiss. The hissing grew louder, along with skittering, as though there were rats on the ceiling and in the walls.

The hairs on the back of his neck were at a standstill now and his gut practically did a Hawaiian lay-dance. "Bobby. Now!" he urged, hearing the scurrying rats edge closer. "Move, now!"

Pulling on Sam's arms, they brought him into a sitting position. "Sam wake up. Wake up kid. Come on," Dean patted his cheek. "Wake up now!"

The kid's eyes began to flutter, and he whined.

"That's good kiddo. Let's move," they finally lifted him to his feet, once again taking place under his arms.

The noises from the ceiling and the hisses grew worse, becoming larger in number. Dean's hairs were like stone, they were so tense. Something wasn't right. He stopped a brief second and looked again, focusing on the top of the entryway leading into Bobby's office room with the fireplace. The hisses mute, the scurrying slowed. It seemed the rats had stopped there.

Keeping his ears on high alert, he looked closer.

And suddenly a green head stuck out from under the protruding beam. Dean emitted a short gasp of fright, stepping back. The head had large black eyes as though it were made of obsidian glass and wicked heavy teeth, large sharp, and covered in gunk and dark saliva. It let off a deafening bat-like caterwaul with the look none other than something hungry for meat.

"Bobby RUN!"

Next more heads all popped under the ledge, all hissing and screeching. The first creature then moved toward them revealing a rather small gangly bluish green body, its spiny hands latched onto the ceiling with nasty jagged fingernails. It wove towards them with fascinating speed, bits of ceiling powder left in its wake.

The others also began to crawl their way. The first creature then leapt off, its body outstretched for the kill. Bobby tossed the gun to Dean. He lifted it the last second and the thing exploded from the shot, spraying them all in dark green entrails. The others, now climbing sideways on the walls, and the rest on the ceiling screamed in protest, and they doubled their efforts.

"What the hell are those things?" Dean cried shooting another.

"I don't know, but I'm not sticking around to find out," Bobby told him, looping an arm around Sam's waist and half-carrying him towards the basement door. "Dean. Move your ass!"

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted after them, keeping the gun handy—though out of ammunition. The bat-like things all dropped to the floor, straightening to a crouch revealing they were no more than three-feet tall with leathery muscular bodies. Dean was slightly repulsed by them. He ran for the basement door, the gargoyle replicas hot on his heels.

Bobby already had Sam halfway down the stairs by the time Dean ran in and closed it. The gargoyles screeched angrily digging their claws into the wood. Not wasting anymore time, Dean took the stairs three at a time, turning around, taking cover. He glanced all around, his breathing hard on his ears making it difficult to concentrate. A large creaking sound occurred and Dean knew Bobby had reached the Panic Room, dragging Sam inside.

He had nearly made it the short distance when an unsuspecting gargoyle leapt from the pillars. It dug its sharp claws into his back knocking him to the floor. Instinctively he rolled over raising the gun. The thing bit into the bar chiseling through the metal as though it were a marshmallow peep. _So much for that idea!_

"Holy Fuck!" Dean cried, still raising the gnawed-on gun. "Bobby!" The thing tore the gun away, swiping down its claws. Dean grabbed them at the last second pushing with all his might to keep them away. "BOBBY!"

The gargoyle went in for a stellar bite.

Dean closed his eyes but the horrendous agonizing pain never came. The thing was lifted off of him and thrown against the concrete wall, splattering into nothing. Dean looked up and saw none other than Cass, bloody, wrecked, but overall fine. The angel extended a hand, which Dean grabbed non-hesitantly.

"Are you alright?" Cass asked.

"Never better," Dean patted himself off. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live," came the curt response, whereupon Cass took Dean's arm and led him towards the opened cellar door. "Get inside. We'll be safe for now."

Dean was just ushered inside when the rawheads jumped down the basement stairs, growling menacingly. The gargoyles also were climbing the walls and ceiling making a steadfast beeline for them all. Cass waved his hand and the door closed in time for a gargoyle to stick its arm in, effectively lopping off the appendage. It fell with a loud 'splat' as the creature's howls of pain echoed and shook the walls.

Cass turned to the group. "Get comfy. It's gonna be a while."

**Dun dun dun! The enemy had made its way into the house. Oh but it doesn't stop there I'm afraid. The boys have got one helluva fight on their hands, coming up next! **

**Oh, and here's a challenge. Who can tell me where the line "Holy Jumped Up Jesus Bald-headed Palomino" came from? I'll give you a hint! It came from an old Stephen King Movie. And it's one of my all time favorites! Whoever comes up with the answer gets a prize! **

**I'll try to be quick with the next update! Tootles!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay, here's the next go-around. Only two more left! Cheerio!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Castiel stood admirably by the heavy iron door. Hands behind his back, he watched and listened, effortlessly following the scores of dust drifting off the quavering cavern walls. Yips and horrible squalls echoed fiercely on the outside; shrieking howls and hammering knocks occurring almost constantly. A small frown marred the angel's face when the pounding increased, by every few seconds it seemed...

The insidious beasts were fighting to break in.

Though a bit relieved they were protected inside this cavernous holdout whose walls were built with about a foot of salted iron alloyed with a quantity of rich titanium, along with the invisible angelic sigils he burned into them, it was inescapable to the celestial being how perilous the situation became.

Cut off from the outside world with no reception, with any and all frequency disrupted to call out for help. With one of the troop in grave condition and the rest worse for wear; with little weaponry and even fewer ammunition shells, plus the added benefit of slim supplies…yeah, long story short, they all were like sitting ducks. Eventually—only the Almighty knew when—the enemy was going to find a way in. Either by way of force, or with themselves going out by the Last Stand Clause Act—no doubt started by the shorthaired one—they will have to come to term with the beasts soon.

But amid the clangor and the lethal threats, Cass stood firm, defiant, as though there wasn't a single shred of fear. As though this was a part of some plan he expected to follow through.

He needn't turn around to see what the rest of the group were up to, for he could see it in his mind. Bobby with a rudimentarily splinted arm held close to his chest, carried on diligently in restocking all the rifles and pistols with ammo, refusing to give in to despair. A large patch of red shined through the navy fabric wrapped around the appendage, a near permanent grimace marking the old man's face.

The two Winchester men were on the cot over on the far sidewall. Sam was in and out of the state of unconsciousness. Breathing harsh and ragged, his body constantly shook, his pallor the color of cauliflower. Occasionally he'd cough and spurts of blood shot out, followed shortly after by another seizure.

Dean sat beside him, watching helplessly on the sidelines. The seizures weren't as horrible as the first bout, but they were still excruciating to behold. Growing less in intensity, but more in number, Sam's back arched off the bedspread, his body growing tense and solid as a pillar of wood. More blood would ooze out of his nose and ears along with a groan or a pained mewl. Every time, Dean grabbed his hand, softly issuing reassurances, desperately trying to give whatever encouragement he could. But all the while, he felt his words were like a patch of dandelions in the wind: quick to wilt and fly away, their effort futile.

The last attack was bad. Sam shouted and cried for so long, it was a wonder his lungs hadn't burst. He thrashed some more, his hands fanned out in sheer agony. Dean held onto him, saying what he had to, fighting hard to not give up. The longer Sam struggled, the more Dean's heart splintered and cracked. He didn't know what to do, or what was there to be done. He felt empty and pathetic.

It was until Sam flipped over and fell off landing on the concrete with a horrible crack that Dean forgot his feelings. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled his baby brother up against his chest and held him tight. He hoped Sam was able to acquire the memo. He hoped that Sam understood that he wouldn't have to fight Lucifer alone. He had to keep telling him that.

He had to keep telling himself that.

Eventually the seizure wore off and Sam exhaustively had drifted back into oblivion. It was then the chills had set in, along with the perfuse sweating, and the high fever, which had Dean puzzled.

Since then he continually sponged the beaded perspiration off Sam's forehead and neck, occasionally pulling the gray scratchy covers up past the soaked shoulders. He had said nothing to the others for the short while they were stuck in the safe room. Confusion mixed with worry for his brother was evident in his eyes. So many rampant questions raced through his mind, he could not choose one to ask.

More time had gone by and the monsters were still there, clamoring, hollering, scheming for a way to get in. Dean looked forlornly up at the ceiling. The pit in his gut was widening giving way into hopelessness, and he didn't like it. It was so unlike him. This feeling of unknowing, of uncertainty. Failing to come up with a better plan, or a plan nonetheless. He had absolutely hated who he had become, so much he was about ready to puke.

Bobby finished with the arsenal unit and came over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "How's he doing?"

Dean shrugged, airing out his damp and bloody flannel shirt, before clumping it back together and smoothing it over Sam's brow. "I don't know," he sighed tiredly. "I think Lucifer pulled back a little bit for now. But something's not right Bobby. I don't like the way he's so clammy and out of it. It's like he's sick or something."

Bobby leaned in closer and gave Sam a once over; afterwards nodding in agreement. "Yeah, it does. Damn boy. Uh, I'll see if I have any antibiotics or medicine. I don't know if I do. It's been awhile since I've put anything down here. Memory's a bit dodgy."

"That's alright. Find what you can," Dean said.

Bobby went to his cabinets. "I think I've got some Tylenol or Advil or something ruther 'round here."

"That won't help any," someone called out.

Both Dean and Bobby stopped and turned an inquisitive eye to Cass, who still had his back turned to them. "What do you mean?"

"No medicine or human interference can help him. Don't waste your efforts," the angel proclaimed, whirling around to face them.

"Then what can we do. We can't just leave him like this," Dean snapped.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything you can do Dean. There isn't anything I can do, even if I wanted to."

"Don't give me that," Dean stood up, gazing murderously at his friend. He had had enough of cryptic answers that only led to more questions. After all that had happened in the last twenty-fours hours, he was ready to explode. He needed answering, and he needed it now. "What the hell is going on Cass? You haven't said anything from the moment we got in here. Now what is it that you know?"

Cass shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean huffed. "Bull. You of all things know that I can spot a lie about a mile off. I may not be what I used to be, but I can still tell when you're not telling me something. Now what is it? What is happening to Sam?"

He stiffened his posture, sticking out his chest a bit to show he wasn't messing around. Bobby came up from behind, backing him up. From the usual avoiding glancing and the slouched shoulders, it was confirmed that Castiel had known something.

Cass's gaze softened, now resting on the pale flaccid creature on the bed. "It's poison," he answered. "Lucifer is poisoning him…from the inside out."

"What?" Dean took a step back. Whatever he was ready to hear, that was not it. "P-poison? I…I uh…I didn't hear you correctly."

"Unfortunately you did Dean. From what I gathered being inside his head for a brief moment, and what I see now, there's nothing else to conclude. Yes, Sam is being poisoned. But you knew that already."

"Huh?"

"You only fought against some of it," Cass gave him a steely look, making him very uncomfortable. "Were you not chased? Did the memory of your mother not turn into something wrinkled, an abomination. And did she not attack you?"

Dean turned away, thinking back. Yeah, he was chased by things. Nasty, ugly things. Was that the poison Cass was referring to?

"She bit you," Cass went on. "And what did you feel after that?"

"I…uh. I felt dizzy, disoriented. I couldn't even stand up."

"Exactly. This is what Lucifer feels he has to do, because he wants out. Since he had been trying to find a weakness, some way to break past Sam's defenses for so long, this is his last resort. Poison him. Poison his memories. His core. His soul. Weaken him so that his defenses are down, so that he can…" he trailed off.

"Can…what? So he can what Cass?" Dean blurted unintentionally.

Cass looked him squarely in the eye. "To break free."

The two men were stunned. Their faces frozen, in disbelief what they heard, in revulsion at the exploding image in their heads. That too they weren't expecting to hear.

Dean licked his lips. "Break free? As in…" he mimicked an explosion with his hands.

"Yes," Cass replied. "The seizures. The attacks. That's Lucifer trying to burst out of the skin he's in. Only Sam won't let him go so easily, and he's angry."

"Okay, now you're confusing me," Dean sat back down on the cot, rubbing his face. "What do you mean Sam won't let him? Why doesn't he just up and leave like…like what you did with Jimmy…or his daughter? You guys can do that, you know!"

"True, but this is not like any other case. Somehow, some way, there was a bond forged. I am uncertain if this was made in Hell or before then. It is a link that tethers the accompanying angel to its chosen vessel, done by an unspeakable act. An act both selfish and unredeemable…"

"Well, who did it? Lucy or Sam?"

Cass shook his head. "When a bond is formed, no one other than the two themselves is aware of who created it, if it was the vessel's choosing or not. But when it is made, know this that the only way for an Angel to escape is to first destroy the soul…and then disintegrate the body. Once the bond is formed, it can't be undone."

This time Bobby took a seat on the cot, donning the same expression as the man beside him, for both were in shock and suffering from terrible nausea.

Dean shuddered. It felt like he was on the edge of a giant precipice, the rockface slowly crumbling at his feet. Just when he believed he had gotten his brother back, now he hears the splendid news that he might lose him again…and this time for good. He felt the tears well up when Sam's pained groan rang among the walls.

He sent a silent beseeching plea to the Angel by the door. "You're telling me you can't find this link, this brand of some kind and zap it away. Something like this happened before, but we burned it and problem solved."

"It is a sigil cloaked by magic. It's even invisible to my eye," Cass sighed. "I'm sorry Dean. I had my suspicions about this, but I wasn't a hundred percent sure until I saw what Lucifer was doing with Sam with my own eyes."

The bottom of Dean's lip trembled. "So you're telling me there's no hope. He can't be saved…that I have to wait here and watch him die. There's nothing you can do. There's nothing I can't do or anyone else?"

"No," Cass replied solemnly. "The only one who can is Sam. He has to kill Lucifer up here," he patted the side of Jimmy's head with a finger. "You went in to help him do that, and you failed."

"He was too damn strong Cass. He was gonna kill Sam. There wasn't anything else I could have done," Dean raised his voice. He was angry now, downright livid. Yeah, he was pulling excuses out of his ass, but in his defense, the guy really did hand their asses to them. But that didn't mean that the nerdy guy in a trenchcoat could place the blame on him. How was that going to save Sam?

"You had the talisman I gave you, right?"

"Yeah. How else did you think we got out?"

Cass rounded on him. "Then you had a way of destroying him."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Say what?"

"That trinket that you carry has the power to put to end the life of a Warrior of God. It is a very important object that has lasted for over three millennia. It has killed many warriors, and it has the power to kill Lucifer."

"Oh nononononono! Hold up!" Dean resumed his full height again, glaring. "First of all, you never said a damn thing that this freakin' holy cross thing could kill him. You just said that it can get me and Sam back out of his head, that's all."

"Yes, that is among many of its properties. And yes, I did say that…because I couldn't tell you much else. I couldn't chance that Lucifer had been listening. If he were to know that you had carried this and take it from you, we'd be in far more peril than you would know."

"So how was I to know that it could kill him?" he pulled out the large heavy cross. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Well, I suppose I was hoping that you would somehow use it and it would do the deed," Cass exclaimed hot-headedly. "All I know is I wasn't suppose to tell you. You were supposed to figure it out on your own. Guess not!"

"What is this thing Cass?" Bobby finally spoke up, studying the talisman Dean had pulled out. The man had gone incredibly quiet since and it took the other two by surprise that he was still there. "If this was made over three millennia ago, then this can't be a Christian relic. The Cross hadn't become idolized in the Christian and Catholic ideology until after Christ. So what is it?"

Cass paused, taking a gander around the room. He found a chair over by a dusty desk and took a seat. He gave a long hesitant sigh before saying, "It is a ornament that is very hard to obtain and _very hard_ to keep. It was used during the Great War that ended with Lucifer in exile. The shape is not of that of the symbol humans use for the Son of God. It is something else entirely. The four points are indicative of the four Cardinal directions."

Bobby leaned in as Dean took a step forward, both of them eager for more intel.

Cass continued. "This talisman, this object, at one time, was the hilt off of Michael's sword. It is what put Lucifer into Hell."

The two men's eyes widen to the size of saucers.

"You see, the four points are not just symbolizing the main directions: North, East, West, and South. The directions themselves mean certain realms. North, heaven. West, Earth. East, the pit…and South…death."

"Death? As in," Dean drew a finger across his neck.

"Precisely. During the battle between the two brothers, before Lucifer was sent into Hell, the East end of the Hilt struck him. If he was struck by the South, the tip of Michael's blade, his energy would have been canceled out, much like any Archangel sword can with us. To this day, it is unknown if Michael had intentionally put Lucifer in exile or he was sent there accidentally. But is it known that he was hit by the side of the hilt."

Dean now sat back down, feeling his legs wobbly. He never could get his head wrapped around the whole history of religion thing.

"Either during the battle or afterwards, the hilt broke off, but still contained its power. Since then it was kept in hiding. No one had seen it or heard about it, except for a few rumors of its keeper. Until recently, I had found its keeper…but he was already dead. The talisman was still kept safe, and now we have it."

Dean huffed. "Well that's all just fine and dandy news. But how does this help us? How can this 'broken thing' help Sam now? I mean, do I have to get back in there and have a round two, now that I know I have a weapon?"

Cass pursed his lips. "No. It's too late. Sam is already awake, and Lucifer is at work. I'm sorry Dean, but I don't know how to help Sam. I don't."

At the desolating sadness in his friend's voice, Dean felt the pit in his gut grow to crater size. The vortex of emotion was yet again reaching its climatic point, and he was suddenly struck with a sense of vulnerability. He felt an even bigger sense of helplessness, and he had no idea of what to do.

"There's…there," a lump formed in his throat. "There's nothing…no one we can go to. Anyone who has any idea how to help," he looked to his friend again, and for a brief second, he could've sworn he saw a ghost of a smile coming from Cass. That went away when Cass shook his head once more.

"I do know of someone who could possibly be of some help. Who would know what to do or who to go to, but I can't reach him from down here. This place is blocking any kind of signal I could put out…" A howl from a gargoyle sounded at the door, giving them all a shiver. "Besides, we're at a slight disadvantage with our friends outside. We would need a plan to get out of here first."

Dean closed his eyes, fighting hard against the depression that threatened to settle in. He nearly forgot about the forces that rained down upon Bobby's house, trapping them inside the canister of a room. He gave Bobby a quick glance before turning back to Cass. "What did you mean they made a pact? That they came together?"

"As I've explained to Bobby before you came back, the Angels are here because they view Sam as a threat. They aren't working with the demons and the others. They're bidding their time, trying to figure a way to eliminate your brother. They know Lucifer is still with him, and now with Michael out of the picture, they won't risk him returning to be their next adversary."

"Wonderful," Dean sighed. "Alright. What else are we dealing with? That thing that nearly bit my head off, not something I'd remember seeing in the demon catalogue."

"Those are Skemies. They're not exactly ancient, but they are from Godly descent…so to speak. Sometimes Pagan Gods when they were real bored, when their human subjects were no longer fulfilling, they liked to experiment. Cross species over with one another, between human or any other unnatural thing they viewed in their eyes, and those things would be the result. Those things, at one point, were known as the gods waste disposal. They could eat any and everything given to them. And they also had had an immense craving for flesh and bone. Especially bone marrow. Most of the time they would live in caves, underground, anywhere where populaces are slim. But now-a-days you can find them lurking around hospitals and labs."

"Gross."

"Yes," Cass agreed. "Most of them were killed off through time by hunters or by the gods themselves, but as you saw, there are a few left. As for the others, the demons must've created a pact with them. Obviously since we had set up defenses they are unable to break past, so they needed something else. Other creatures we weren't aware of. Other things that can easily get them through."

"Do they want to kill Sam too?"

Cass was hesitant. He toyed with the answer in his answer first. "I…I don't know if they all want him dead. I don't think so. But I do know the majorities do want him dead. They fear him. They believe their leader is finished. And if Sam survived, their only conclusion is that he will come for them next. It will only be a matter of time."

"So basically you're saying the odds are against us right now?"

"Yes. Basically yes," Cass piped. "We're in a deep load of shit."

Bobby and Dean coughed, laughing a bit at that statement. "Second that."

Dean stood again. "Alright. Guess there's only one thing left to do now."

"And what's that," Bobby stood up.

Dean looked him square in the eye. "We leave. Take em' all on full force, try to get out of here."

"Are you gone sum kind of crazy boy? You have noticed we are slightly low on manpower, hardly have any arsenal, and we're up against practically all the supernatural things we've ever encountered, right?"

"Bobby we don't have a choice. Sam doesn't have much time left," he looked to his pale and barely conscious sibling, "And if we can just get from this room just a few feet, maybe Cass could do his mojo real quick. Beam us out of here and take us to this person who might know what to do."

"He does have a point Bobby. It's something we could try," Cass said. "It's a suicide mission, but yeah, we could do it."

Bobby sighed in annoyance. "What is it with us coming up with horrible plans?"

"That's just how we roll, I guess."

"I knew it! You were going to be the death of me…again."

Dean smiled. "Wouldn't have it any other way Bobby. All right let's do what we gotta do and let's get rolling."

**Yep, action time! Yeah, this was kinda of a downer. But we're saving up for next time. Get ready, it's gonna be a ride. **

**Just FYI, the tidbit about the talisman is made up. Hell, in fact everything in here is fictional. No misconceptions or misjustifications towards the Christian theology were intended. No flames please. And the Skemies also were part of the dark recesses of my mind too. Any similarities to any real creatures are strictly coincidental. Hope you enjoyed.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, well this chapter was supposed to be a lot longer…but it was taking me F-O-R-E-V-E-R to complete. So I decided to give you this into _two parts_, and make the ending into three chapters. It's almost over, I promise. It won't be too much longer. Thanks for reading.**

The three men and the angel all stood at the cellar door, two of them with weapons in hand. At least three or four pistols hung off Dean and Bobby's bodies, armed to go out blazing. Dean readjusted the strap of ammo across his chest, his finger dancing off the trigger, his nerves gone haywire. He was all too ready for the action.

Bobby's finger also completed a tapping routine off the shotgun's small trigger flab. He, too, was pumped, ready for the onslaught that was sure to come.

Castiel, however, was less than thrilled about the upcoming intended _blitzkrieg_. In fact, he was the only one against it, having known it would conclusively end in their untimely death. But ultimately, he conceded, having realized that he, himself, couldn't hole up in the basement for much longer. He pulled the exhausted form of Sam up against his side, tugging the long arm over his other shoulder. "Just for the record, this was your idea," he said unenthusiastically.

"You can think of anything better?"

Cass paused to think for a brief second at his charge's retort. Then he huffed in defeat. "No, I suppose not."

"See," Dean emphasized his rebuttal, strolling over and placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "How're ya holding up Sammy? Ya good?"

Sam barely turned his head off of Cass's shoulder to look at him. His eyes fluttered weakly, his pale skin glowing sickly in the light. "How…how do I look?"

Dean paused, biting his tongue in order to prevent him from saying his brother looked worse than an anemic zombie. Instead he bopped his head up and down and said, "Good…you look good. Adonis would be jealous."

Sam snorted. "Liar," he whispered. "Just so you know, this is a really bad idea."

"Yeah, I know. But…it's just another day at the office. It was gonna end up being this way anyway, so…" Dean nodded. "But just in case, I—"

"Dean," Sam butted in, "Save it."

Dean gave him a goofy, yet relieved smile. He never was one for the goodbye speech. "Alright, time to lock and load. Ready when you are Cass." He resumed his place beside Bobby, re-cocking the shotgun in his hand. He closed his eyes one last time, in belief that that this might be his final hour.

Cass tightened his hold around Sam's waist, releasing his other arm. He extended out his hand, unleashing the veil that held his telekinetic power. The wheel on the door fidgeted. He released more of his God-given talent and the wheel then began to eerily spin faster, the creaks echoing harshly on their ears.

Then with one final crank, the door swung open…

Bobby and Dean immediately launched out the opening and began shooting in all directions as fast as their triggers would allow. Bobby took the left side as Dean did the right. Massive beams of light illuminated the room in a strobe effect as their weapons continued to fire, engulfing them in a smothering cloud of smoke.

Dean was the first to run out of ammo. He quickly resorted to the second gun suspended off his trousers, a high-power shot rifle, and let off a couple of shots. The hum of the cartridge emptying sounded, and he stashed it to the side, quickly pulling out the _Glock 9mm_. Another long running hum sounded and Dean knew Bobby also had run out on empty. The old man chucked his weapon to the side and held steady his second favorite, .22 caliber rifle.

Silence befell around them, the smoke swirling upwards making visibility near impossible. They kept still, listening, anticipating.

There wasn't a wail, a long agonizing cry of death, or the sound of movement, nothing but the sound of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears. The gunpowder smog began to dissipate, the darkness of the basement enshrouding their entire surroundings.

Dean kept his eyes peeled and his hearing on high alert. He looked for dead carcasses. From the entire volley of lead the two men let loose, there had to be at least one dead monster. However, none was to behold. Up in the rafters, there were no sign of the Skemies. On the floor, in the corners, behind the banisters, there was no half-destroyed evidence of the Rawheads, the Witches, or anything. He gulped. That usually wasn't a good token.

He sent a cursory glance at Bobby noting the same suspicious expression. Apparently he also found the lack of bodies daunting. Dean then looked back towards Cass inside the Panic Room. "Come on. If we're going to do this, now's the time."

Cass nodded in agreement and easily glided over the threshold with Sam in tow. He paused just outside the doorway peering up at the ceiling. Bobby and Dean moved in closer prepared for the next step of the plan.

"Wait," Cass called out, stopping the men in their tracks. He suddenly appeared alarmed, then waved a frantic "come" gesture towards them. "Come on. Come on. We need to go n—"

_Flash._

_Boom._

Then rendered a big explosion of wood and cement debris, followed closely by a heart-stopping shockwave. The first thing Dean saw were his feet flipping over his head, the force catapulting him backwards. His head first collided with the back wall before harshly landing on his back; the breath knocked completely out of him.

A pained cry was heard and he quickly sat up to see Cass and his brother flattened against the floor. There was another flash and then Cass was suddenly pinned to the ceiling. He tried to move, but it was as though he were stuck to flypaper.

Dean scrambled to his feet running over to the spot. He first checked on his brother, bucking in surprise. The impact surely would've squashed Sam, but he remained whole and alive, albeit barely. He then spun around searching for the invisible enemy, keeping the gun trained high. Nothing happened. No one showed. Nor was there an odd anomaly sense to the air.

He took a small tentative breath and then reached for the angel. "Reach for my hand Cass. Come on dammit!"

"It won't work. This is Raphael's doing. Get Sam back into the room NOW!" Cass demanded.

"No. Fight it Cass. We can still do this."

"No…" Cass suddenly gasped, his eyes growing wild. "Dean! Behind you!"

Dean didn't need the warning. He already felt the presence behind him. Whirling around, he let off a shot—the being blocking the blast sending the edges of fire hurling toward him. Hot pain ripped through his arms and chest, the hot buckshot pellets penetrating deep. The archangel Raphael smiled with a malicious intent before swinging out an arm.

Dean swore he felt the hit long before the fist connected with his skull. He flew over and hurtled through a wooden pillar, the column breaking in half as though it were a toothpick. Hellish white-hot pain sprouted in his upper back, a massive 9.0 headache forming from his brain ricocheting back and forth in his cranium, his body gone slightly numb. He blacked out.

The archangel gave a triumphant "hymph". He went for Sam, who gazed up at him tiredly. The vessel knelt down, the celestial being forcing a soft, regrettable expression on its chubby face. "For what it's worth, I am sorry. You have done well in your fight, but I cannot allow this union to be." He said in a deep voice, placing a palm over Sam's head where a small light began to kindle.

A steady stream of shots occurred and several gaping holes formed in the vessels back. Raphael took away his hand and turned around where Bobby stood heroically, thick black smoke unfurling from the .22's chamber.

Raphael grinned. "Human," he shook his bulky head. "Very gallant of you, but _very_ stupid. You know your pathetic instruments are of no use against something like me."

"I know," Bobby replied shakily, "But it was worth a shot."

"And it worked!" someone had said from behind the archangel. Raphael turned and came face-to-face with Castiel. Cass in a mad dash lunged at his foe, forced him across the basement floor, and in an upward motion lifted him through the ceiling. Raph, however, before he disappeared grabbed Cass by the lapels of his jacket and took him with him, both disappearing out of sight.

"Dammit Cass," Bobby cursed. He got back onto his feet, having fallen from the ruckus the two angels had caused. Running the short distance, he first checked on Sam who seemed to be still breathing, and then ran over to Dean. He rolled the heap of a man over smacking his cheek lightly. "Dean. Boy, wake up! Dean!"

Dean's eyes took a moment to flutter open. He groaned, the filmy edges of his vision fading out. There he saw the grand shape of his surrogate father standing over him, pulling on his arm. Bobby's voice weaved in and out, as though it were speaking to him through a malfunctioning radio frequency.

"Wha…what?" He could barely understand his own voice.

"Get up! We gotta get out of here," Bobby repeated.

Dean still couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Surmising from the desperate tone and the tugging on his appendage, he figured it was time to get a move on. He stumbled to his feet, swaying a bit. "I'm…I'm g-good Bobby."

"Ya sure?"

Dean thought for a second. He nodded. "Y-yea. Go. Get Sammy." He looked around. "Where's…where's Cass?"

"Gone," came the abrupt reply.

"Ah jeez, you're kidding." He bent over and picked up his fallen weapon.

"'Fraid not son," Bobby responded gently rolling Sam over and pulling him into a sitting position. "Here boy. Let's get ya up."

Sam moaned, blinking slowly. "Hmmm…Bobby."

"I hear ya Sam, but come on. We need to…" he trailed off, his gaze eerily crawling upward as though he just realized something. He then sent his worrisome eyes on Dean, who grew alarmed real quick.

"Bobby, no!"

It was too late. The old man launched backwards, dropping Sam back to the floor, his body sailing across the length of the basement. He smashed into the opposite wall, crash landing on his back, where then by some unseen force was dragged up the wooden steps and through the door.

"Bobby!" Dean cried hearing the pained outcries by his mentor. "Bobby NO! Dammit!" He rushed for his brother, desperately picking up the limp figure. "Sammy. Sammy. Come on. Come on. We gotta go. Get up! Come on! Get up!"

There was a loud shriek and something heavy fell on top of his back, squashing him to the floor. It dug its sharp nails into his shoulders and knelt down, sinking its gruesome teeth into his shoulder blade. He screamed long and loud, slinging over both arms to grab for the enemy he could not reach. The thing shook its head like a ravenous wolf, pulling out bits of muscle, the fleshy strings snapping like overstretched elastic bands.

Dean nearly lost consciousness again. The pain elicited by the creature was far greater than he had ever endured. The monster pulled back, taking with it a mouthful of Winchester meat. Instinct forced him to roll over pinning the creature. Taking his gun, he reached back and stuffed the barrel into its mouth and instantly made brain soufflé. The monsters brains splattered out in a fan on the cement, some of its staining the back of his head.

Regaining his breath, he rolled off of it, seeing that it was another Skemie. "Ugh…ow," he mewled placing a hand over the gaping sanguine wound.

Several more blares and squalls sounded. Dean looked up to see more Skemies crawling across the basement ceiling, up and over the rafters, and down the walls. Thinking quick, he rolled Sam over to the foot of Bobby's Panic Room. Despite Sam's protests, he pushed him over the threshold and back into the room.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam's weak voice called.

Dean unheeded the cry. Briefly regretting his decision, he closed the door, twirling the wheel, locking it tight. He closed his eyes, in sadness at hearing his brother's cries for him. He had to do it. He had to keep him safe. And he couldn't leave Bobby and Cass alone to fend off the murderous fiends. He turned back around, facing the oncoming Skemies.

With whatever ammo he had left, he used it up massacring about five or six of the gangly gargoyle-looking things. There were three left. One jumped from the rafters and he bludgeoned it away with the end of his rifle. Another came up tackling him to the ground. He also beat away the measly slimeball. He kicked and punched, fought and struggled, gaining up one in the fight.

However, it all ended when a Rawhead came out of nowhere, taking him by the foot and dragged him away. The last of his brother's cries echoing inside the vault, forever making a brand off his memory.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Castiel fell to the ground with a great "oomph". The archangel swooped down upon him, grabbing his throat. He picked him up and threw him away against the opposite wall. The wall splintered and cracked, the house vibrating at the powerful collision.

Cass shook his head from the dizziness that pervaded his senses. He regained his footing just in time for a beam of lightning to zigzag over his head. Raphael appeared to the front and a whole storm of electrical surges was wrought. He smiled wickedly, his dark eyes glowing sinisterly in the lilac rays.

Bravely against his decision, Cass discreetly pulled out Lucifer's sword. There was no other choice. This was a fight to the death. He saw that now. The archangel was too far grappled in his own revenge than to think solely of his mission. He had to end him.

Scores of wings tumbled through the air. Cass stilled, becoming tense. He knew what that meant. And sure enough, one by one, approximately ten angels or so popped into view, forming a circle all around the room; all having taken up male vessels in business attires. Cass looked to each and every one of them, his heart breaking. He knew them as he was at one time their leader.

It was his garrison, now under the influence and leadership of his one true enemy.

_So much for poetics. _

He gripped the sword tighter in his hand.

This was a fight to the death.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

All Dean knew from the moment the Rawhead dragged his ass away was he was in a world of pain. The stupid bastard hadn't helped with things by dragging him backwards up the wooden steps. That hurt worse than the Skemie bite. He swore his back was still singing soprano.

Back upstairs in what was left of Bobby's livingroom, the Rawhead dropped him by the fireplace. He leapt to his feet when he was assaulted by a nasty bout of dizziness. Unintentionally he took his eyes off the enemy leaning heavily on the chipped mantle.

Something flew and clocked him good in his midriff. The pain wasn't at first sharp, but it soon escalated to a throbbing ache. He looked down and saw that the culprit was a thorn-covered rose protruding from between his ribs. Instantly he took it out, suddenly feeling red-hot warmth issuing from the pinprick. _What the hell?_

A feminine chuckle echoed.

Dean sank to his knees, the gushing warmth spreading to the lower end of his body. He grabbed his chest, the warmth causing a hitch to form in his breath.

Footfalls sounded close by. Peering up he saw a woman advance from the stairwell. In her own right, she was beautiful, with long straight brunette locks, a tall slender body adorned in a dark leather jacket and black tights and tall boots. Her eyes burned a bright hazel in contrast against a pale pointy face. Honestly, if she weren't some supernatural hitman, he'd probably hit on her.

Obviously she was a witch. If the Rawhead standing in the corner appearing as though waiting on an order wasn't enough to surmise that, then the row of rosebuds attached to her belt surely had to be.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk," the witch gloated in a smooth deep voice. "Of all the things I've heard about the Winchester reputation, I'd have to say I'm a little disappointed."

Dean glared.

She grinned. "Oh don't be that way baby," she chided. "It'll all be over soon. As long as we get what want, no harm no foul."

The warmth acting like a paralysis agent settled in Dean's hips. He fell over twitching unmercifully.

"I know, cheap move right?" She took a rose from her belt and admired it. "But don't worry, its only temporary. It's mainly there to render my enemies helpless so I can do this…"

She lifted a hand and Dean suddenly was suspended in the air. She rotated her hand muttering something out loud. Dean's insides then twisted and churned, a fire unimaginable it felt spreading throughout, charring, boiling. The witch muttered another incantation and he emitted out a heart-stopping scream. His body jerked, the fire shredding his insides to pieces.

The witch bitch lowered her hand and Dean dropped to the floor. He whined, curling into a ball feeling the fire receding a bit. The woman let out a haughty chuckle. "Oh I'm sorry, did that hurt? Well let this serve as retribution for all of my kind slaughtered by the likes of you. It gives me great pleasure to see _the Dean Winchester_ whine and moan like a little bitch at my feet."

Dean spat out a bit of blood. He groaned. "Take a cold shower, will ya lady? Your hard on is giving me the creeps."

The witch glowered. "Cute. I'm sure you always had a gift of that mouth of yours. Let's see you come up with something more pressing to say after this." She lifted her hand again and more harrowing screams erupted from Dean's throat.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

"D-d-dean…n-no…"

"D-d-don't…y-ou son of a bitch…n-no."

"W-why D-dean…n-no c-c-come b-back…"

Sam wasn't sure how long he had been calling for his brother. Time in this cellar was irrelevant. He knew that all too well from the time he was trapped inside during demon detox. And he also remembered the silence made it seem worse.

He couldn't believe Dean. Even in his fragile state, he was completely astounded at the brash action of his brother. It was stupid. Reckless. Heroic.

_But stupid._

And now he was stuck down here all by himself, with God knows what happening to Cass, Bobby, and his brother. He hated this. He hated this incapacitation. This vulnerability. _This helplessness_. He needed to help. But how?

Another horrendous cough tore through his chest, the effects of Lucifer's assault beginning to consummate. The tremors ripped throughout his frame with a fury, seething, stretching the muscles to their breaking point. His face turned crimson, his back arched, his fists clenched. The terrible agony chorused all the way across, ending in his toes curling.

He coughed again. "St…stop. Stop," he gasped, scrunching his eyes tight. "Stop! I said stop it right now!"

The pain ceased. The tremors abated. It seemed the beast had momentarily released its claws.

Sam gasped, greedily sucking at the air like an air-born fish. "That's right," he breathed. "Stop it."

The ache dulled and Sam knew then that _he_ was listening.

"Enough is enough," he said out loud. "I've had enough. Now you listen to me you son of a bitch. You wanted me. You got me. Now you're gonna have to live with me…"

He grimaced, thinking hard about what he had to say. "I'm not a dumbass, I know how this is gonna end. It's something I can't escape. But I'll keep fighting and you know why? Because I'm not gonna let my brother die because of you. I'm not gonna let my friends _die_ because of you, of what we created, of what we caused. We started this. Your buddies want me dead. That's old news to me, but I'm done. I don't want to fight no more. We have to end this. So either you can help me…or so help me God, I'll bring you down so hard you'll never even see it coming."

He knew it was a bluff. But that wasn't the point, because, like a lightbulb, he suddenly knew what he had to do. "Good, now that you're listening. I know what's happening, and I know what you're up to. And it's fine. You want out, fine. You can get out. I won't stop you this time. But you're gonna help me first. You do that and I'll let you on through. I swear."

There was silence among his skull. Lucifer was thinking.

"What d'ya say? We have a deal?"

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here we are, the next one!**

_**Drip. Drip. Splat.**_

Dark liquid sluiced down the edge of his blade and dripped off the tip. Filled with dread, Cass took a step back and watched the blood splatter onto the floor. Absolute guilt and regret flooded his heart for what he had to do. All in the name of survival and friendship. The last of the blood came to the taper, growing into a large congealed blob before falling and hitting his leather shoe. It was then that his heart broke.

Cass took another step and hung his head. He was about to put away his weapon when another angel sprung from the ground and rushed at him. His blade went up in defense and with adroit prowess swiftly gouged through the vessels throat. Beautiful pulsating light ignited from the intrusion site and the body shot back at the power of the soul vanishing. Cass then wiped the blood off his jacket, a sad twinkle forming in his eye.

All ten of his fellow comrades lay dead at his feet. It was a fight well fought. Jimmy his vessel certainly had endured several broken bones and near-stabbings. He had pleaded more than once for the small unit to stop and listen to him, but alas, his pleas fell on deaf ears. It was when one of them had pulled out a sword, much like his own—no doubt given to by Raphael—that the decision to kill was fortified. And easily, one by one, each was vanquished.

Once the final member fell dead, Cass sheathed his sword, stowing it back into the dark recesses of Jimmy's trenchcoat. He then rushed from the room to find Raphael, who earlier in the fight had chickened out and left. It wouldn't surprise him if the archangel had wetted his girlie panties and left screaming with his hands flailing over his balding head.

Cass laughed at the image. Raphael could pull off the best prissy bitch face unlike anything he had ever seen. Too bad only a few had seen it and had the gall to talk about it.

But he quickly set back his stoic game face. It confused him. Raphael was a powerful angel, one in the top of the hierarchy. No way would he willingly flee from a fight—a fight he started no less…unless something had him spooked. During the short battle, Cass had delivered the first blow and Raph easily blocked it. But after a few more curtail maneuvers in which Cass had gained the upper hand, Raph stopped short. His eyes first focused and then grew wide as though he saw something in his opponent, something that scared the holy hell of him and immediately took off afterward.

Cass knew what the Archangel might have seen. It was a question of what the celestial warrior might do now that he knew. But he wasn't taking any chances. He had to stay on high alert. Raphael's powers cloaked his senses. The being was still lurking about, that Cass knew, but he couldn't place him. It wouldn't take bringing Einstein back from the grave to guess that the bastard was biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to attack. _What a little bitch?_

One thing that Raph didn't shield his senses against was the whereabouts of the other three men. He could feel Lucifer in the basement. The fallen angel grew stronger with each passing minute and it only had Cass fear for Sam's life. If Lucifer were to escape now, then all would be in peril. Not just the three of them in this little town, but the entire world once more. He sighed. They weren't ready for another rendition of _Apocalyptica_. They barely made it through the last time.

Cass could feel the demons and the other creatures on the lower level of the house, along with one witch. He peaked an eyebrow. There was only one witch. He searched some more. Surely there were more when the attack had begun.

He stopped.

Not only could he sense evil's presence, but he felt Dean too. Dean was captured, held down and was being tortured via the Witch's powers. He could feel his pain. It was hardly worth something he'd endure, so he had to move fast. Dean's life may have depended on it.

Cass left out of the room and into the ruins of Bobby's hallway, but he did not flee down the steps. Instead he turned into another room, a large storage space, where he felt another presence. Over in the corner he saw a giant white bundle stuck high on the wall. The further he approached it appeared more like a canvas cocoon. A couple of Skemies crawled over it, licking it, cawing loudly like a bunch of hyenas surrounding dinner.

They screeched, flashing their succulent black gums as he stepped up. One wave of his hand and they exploded into green goo. He came up to the cocoon hovering a hand over the sticky remnants, feeling Bobby's energy emanate from inside. Though he didn't really have to. The pair of muck boots protruding out on one end already told him who was bundled from within.

"Bobby!" Cass called.

There was a loud moan from inside.

"Hang on. I'll get cha out!"

Another long angry groan sounded. Cass could barely comprehend it, but he could've sworn he heard the word "bitch" as part of it. He shook his head. The old man was always a mouthy one.

The cocoon stank of rotten meat and body odor. And it was sticky, as though it was made of arachnid excrement. He looked around for a way of making an opening. Nothing was found. He laid a hand on the side and suddenly the skin began to sizzle.

"Ah," he cried prying his hand away. "What the…" he paused to think. Was this some sort of trick? What sort of magic was this? Or rather what had the power to defend against something like him?

Bobby started screaming again. The sack he was encased began to rock from the man's fidgeting. Cass looked closely. There at the end where Bobby's feet stuck out, he saw it, wisps of steam drifting upwards. More hollers reverberated from within and the cocoon became real hot…scorching hot. _Holy shish-ka-bobs! It's sautéing him alive._

Cass thought real quick. Nothing had happened when he approached. Something must've set off a catalyst when he touched the sack. What the hell could do something like that?

Swift as the wind, Cass pulled out his sword. He slashed it at the material, but it failed to break through. He froze in shock. Surely one swipe from his blade and the thing would've split open. But as such, nothing happened and Bobby was still filleting.

Squinting, conjuring up a vast amount of energy, he concentrated it into the cold steel. The blade soon became hot, molten hot, glowing fiercely in his palm. He angled it up and in a flash tore it across the entire length of the sticky casing. A grand slit appeared with hot liquid and steam billowing out, and out fell Bobby onto the dusty flooring, red-faced and covered in burns.

"Bobby," Cass knelt by the near-unconscious figure. He pressed a couple fingers to the red forehead and the steaming burns disappeared. Bobby continued to lye on the ground panting for air, gazing wide-eyed at the ceiling. "Alright old man?"

Bobby coughed. "I'll…g-give y-you old man alright. Here…stand still so…I can put my foot…up your ass."

Cass pursed his lips. "I see you're back to normal," he stood up. "Stay still, don't move." However relieved that he was able to save Bobby from being made into stew, but there was a more pressing matter. What had put him in that cocoon? Skemies surely couldn't have done it. They were gangly scavenger things. More than likely they didn't have the proper mechanics to be making web-like material to encase their prey. And if that was the case, then what had?

The angel looked down to Bobby. "Bobby, what was it that put you in that thing?"

Bobby continued to pant, curling in on his side.

"Bobby!"

"I…I don't know," he gasped. "I didn't get a chance to see it. It moved too fast." The set of glazed blood-shot eyes settled on him and they widened. "C-C-Cass! Up! Up!"

There wasn't enough time. Before Cass had the chance to whirl around, he felt a thick sticky cord wrap around his neck, lifting him up in the air. He gurgled and squirmed, the rope beginning to burn through the delicate flesh. It charred and singed his fingers as he grabbed at it, but it held firm. Cass started to scream.

Clacking like that of a bunch of rats scurrying on the wall panels sounded above his head. His vision swam in and out of focus, the shape of something large and black moving towards the center. Finally his eyes adjusted and the blurriness faded. And what Cass saw made his heart drop like an iron anchor.

An _arachnae_.

A harbinger of death created by a small band of archangels during the Great War when the feud between Lucifer began. Spider-like with a black bulbous body and eight long-spindly legs and a humanoid head, the arachnae were like a group of assassins for angels. No bigger than a large Labrador, with fearsome strength, superimposed webbing extract like that of a real spider, they'd trap their prey, and like in a Venus Fly-trap dissolve their victims in an acidic vat.

They were mostly killed off after the war, thought to be near extinct. Only now it was clear that a few were kept alive, dormant, ready to use for the next battle of the galaxy.

The arachnae stared him down with ruby red eyes, licking its pointy nose with a long lizard-like tongue, revealing long serrated teeth. It squalled, its noise resembling hurricane-like winds.

Blood trickled down into Cass's shirt and jacket, painting his fingers. The web shrunk slicing into the cauterized skin. Any tighter and the webbing was sure to have lopped off his head like a string through butter. The arachnae licked its chops again, angled its body towards him and shot out another glutinous cord from its backend. The mucous-covered cord clung onto Cass's chest, immediately welding onto it, where the monster slid down gracefully pinning itself to the angel's torso. Instantly it sunk its jaws into his chest, exactly over Jimmy's heart.

Though in pain, in near-death, Cass knew what the arachnae was up to. When it didn't have an appetite for soupy angel-mix, it would do the next best thing. First it'd dig through his ribcage, break it open, and eat his heart. Then it would go after the very soul residing within the body and devour it. There was no point in leaving his vessel for a short time before it ate him…the web wrapped around his neck, unsurprisingly, had powers that held him trapped within.

The spider bit down once more peeling back the tough layer of epidermis, finally revealing the ribcage beneath. It stuck in at least four of its spindly legs ready to pry apart the bony prison and retrieve its prize. Cass gasped, his vision wavering again. This was it. He was going to be killed by a giant bug. _WTF!_

"HEY!"

The arachnae looked up.

**Boom!**

It's head exploded at the cannon of a shot, dousing everyone in a spray of shiny emerald sludge. As if it were in a slingshot, its body flung backwards hitting the back wall with a wet 'slop', where the rest of its creepy parts danced around in a circle. Another cannon shot sounded and the cord overtop Cass's head snapped off and he plummeted to the floor.

Bobby shoved his gun away upon running out of ammo. He rushed over to the fallen angel and helped him stagger to his feet. The angry scorched line across Cass's neck immediately healed as he peeled the cord away. He blinked several times, clutching his head.

"Are you alright?" Bobby asked, keeping a firm arm on the nerd's bicep.

"Ye…yea. Thanks," Cass stammered.

"Don't mention it."

The creature over in the corner continued its tap dancing routine, spinning in rapid pirouettes. Cass jumped at it, piercing through its shiny black body with Lucifer's sword. The thing twitched, having a spasm, before soon shuddering to a halt apparently dead.

Cass stood triumphantly over the remains, which began to disintegrate, melting through the floor. The arachnae was born from an archangel's sword; it would die upon them.

The wounded angel took a step back, placing a hand over his heart feeling the flesh and muscle mend. The healing was slow due to the arachnae's poison, but it soon was hastened at the destruction of its owner.

Bobby glanced all around for more newcomers, wearily checking the last weapon he carried. Cass stayed at ease. There were no other entities up on the higher level of the house. Though the danger was far from over.

"Come. We must hurry," he said to Bobby, gliding out the door.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Dean's voice was raw and overused from the screaming. Normally he would have bitten his tongue rather than emit out a cry of agony. He was never one to give satisfaction to his torturer-of-the-moment. Though he had to hand it to this chick. She was nifty in ways of eliciting pain and suffering that had even him by the balls.

The witch bitch gently lowered her hand, taking pleasure in hearing the harsh pants of relief. She grinned. One more dose of her power and she was sure he'd be groveling at her boots for a swift and clean death. Not that she wasn't willing to give him one, but it would be fun to hear this one beg.

Dean's body shuddered to a halt. He coughed, cringing at the ache it brought on He just had about enough of this. If she was merely playing with him, then what was the point? He grinned inwardly. Why not raise the stakes a bit? See what else she was capable of. What other choice was there? He was running out of time as it was. Who knew how long Sammy had before Lucifer busted out?

He forced out a cheesy grin. "I-is t-that the best you got, bitch."

"Excuse me," she sounded genuinely surprised.

"That's right," he spat out a puddle of blood. "If a-all you got is just fiddling with my innards, then I have to say I'm a little disappointed."

"Is that so?"

"You can bet your sweet ass, that's so. Come on, I know everyone wants a piece of this delicious thing. Jump in line. So I know you can do a little better than this. I'll tell ya what. Go get your hair down, have a little manicure cuz sweetheart you're in dire need of one, and maybe a pedicure while you're at it. Give yourself a little pampering session to come up with something better and worthwhile, cuz quite frankly this ain't nothing."

The witch glared.

"Go on. Time's a wasting."

"Fine," she muttered through clenched teeth. "You want to play rough, then we can do that." Her hands then snapped backwards, the points of her knuckles grazing the tops of her wrists, making Dean really queasy. They rotated around on their axis as she then began inciting an incantation.

_She's gifted with hands. I'll give her that._ Dean thought perversely.

The longer the witch spoke, the louder the foreign passage became. Her eyes now shined a bright green, the rest of her body glowing.

Dean gulped. Perhaps he didn't want to find out what this witch was capable of.

She raised her arms and Dean shut his eyes ready for the nuclear blast that was going to leave nothing but his dust imprint on the wall.

"ENOUGH!" A rough deep voice called.

The witch lowered her arms, the light surrounding her body waning. But she did not turn around. In stepped from the kitchen area were three people, two men and a woman, all with eyes the color of midnight. _Demons._

Oh Great!

"Why must you stop me from taking my prize?" the witch questioned.

The demon in the middle, a tall handsome black man, stepped forward. "That's enough. We need him alive. How else are we going to draw Sam out here?"

"I don't care about your little problem," she seethed. "I've come to get my share. That was the deal. I get you in. I get my trophy. This pinprick off my side. This dying weed. This piece of insignificant roadside trash deserves no better than the rest of them."

"Jeez lady," Dean huffed.

"I understand," the demon softened his tone. "And we appreciate all of your hard efforts, we do. And you'll get your prize. But not yet. We need Sam to come out. We have to settle this for good. Killing off his brother so quickly in the process will be futile."

The witch leaned on her hip, obviously impatient. "Fine. You want Sam now. I'll go get him," she nodded to her Rawhead, who nodded back and like a submissive slave headed straight for the basement. "He'll be out in no time."

"Good. In the mean time, we wait…before he comes out with your friend's head."

She scoffed. "Not necessarily. I sensed his energy. He's weak. Taking him out of the equation would hardly be of any consequence."

The black man smirked. "If you say so."

Dean glanced wearily between the lot. Needless to say, he was dumbfounded as to what to do. The Rawhead was going straight for his helpless baby brother, and he was far too injured and hurting to stop them. What if that thing does bring Sam out? What if this demon horde does get what they want, quarter him and dice him, chop him into little bits and be done with him? What can he do?

Well Hells Bells, if he was going to stay in a broken wreck on the ground.

He carefully looked around for a source of weaponry. To the right he saw the rifle. Snatching it up, he first aimed it at the hot chick. Two shots to the shoulder and chest and the bitch went down screaming like a lemming falling off a cliff.

He then pointed the gun at the three demons, who fell to the ground each with a shot to the head. It wouldn't kill them, he knew, but it would slow them down. Keeping the gun close, he scrambled to his feet, limping towards the basement. He had to get to Sam before that fugly thing did.

His feet had stopped moving long before he realized he wasn't going anywhere. Looking down, he saw his leather shoes permanently stuck to the floor. His body gave an instant jerk to the side and he was launched back, pinned against the wall, the gun falling from his grasp.

"Oh Dean, you should've known that wouldn't have kept us down for long," the black man chided with his hand raised. "Split second timing. I'd have to say that is a record."

Dean squirmed, but to no avail, he was wedged in tight.

"Besides," the demon called out. "You wouldn't have gotten very far. There's more where we came from." Once he made that remark, the hallways suddenly were filled with people, faces of all ethnicities, of many colors, all with the same coal-colored eyes. There had to be at least thirty or so demons on the inside. Who knows how many on the outside? _Shit!_

The main threesome of demons laughed. "You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

"Sure we did," someone called from up above.

The demons looked up towards the staircase. Cass and Bobby simultaneously jumped from the banister, squashing at least five demons to the floor. They jumped off, Bobby shooting the surrounding demon spawn down with his high-powered rifle. Cass lifted his hand and blasted a few of them backwards. Afterwards he advanced on the main three, swiping them off their feet.

The magical hold pinning Dean to the wall relented. Forgetting about the rifle, he immediately raced over to the desk, yanked open one of its drawers, and pulled out the sawed-off shotgun. Instantly he shot two demons back, stuffing the rest of the salt-pellets into his jacket pocket.

Bobby came up behind him, taking cover. They beat away any demons that shuttled towards them while Cass took on the rest. Loud blasts and screams echoed constantly throughout the small space. The two men persistently continued their defense, growing tired by every second. However the stream of demons seemed endless.

"I'm almost out," Bobby yelled.

"Me too!" Dean hollered back.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know!"

Something happened. Silence fell all around them for a split-second before there was a cataclysmic white flash. Dean and Bobby covered their faces at the hostile light, feeling the wave of heat it produced. Uncovering their eyes, both their faces fell at the sight. Cass was frozen against Raphael's grip, the archangel's silver sword pierced tightly into the angel's midriff.

"Cass no!"

Raphael dug the sword in deeper, half-smirking in delight, half-disappointed that he missed the intended heart muscle.

All the demons stood stunned, afraid to move, deep in shock at the sight of the Archangel.

Raphael leaned in closer to his victim. "It can't be true. It isn't."

Cass grimaced, his body shuddering. He gave off a small smile. "Believe it. And just to let you know, you're in big trouble."

The archangel scoffed. "Is that so? Well, let's see how it goes once you're dead."

Cass's smile grew wider, and surreptitiously he threw out his hand. "That's alright. It w-won't m-matter."

"And why's that?"

The large golden talisman flew through the air and Cass caught it in his grip. Angling it down, he stuck it squarely into Raphael's back. The angel released his grip and stumbled back in shock. Desperately he reached for the object, but to no avail, it remained planted.

"Because you're dead."

Raphael backed up to the bookcase, whirling around several times, his body bucking in pain and electrical shock. Soon he stopped and spread his arms out, the talisman igniting a spark, in which the angel's entire embodiment became engulfed in flames. He screamed for mercy, falling to his knees, and in under a few seconds, the powerful being disintegrated into ashes. The hilt of Michael's sword fell with a loud 'clang'.

Cass steadily gripped the silver weapon in his side and slid it out. Wobbly-kneed, he fell to the ground with a great clatter. Blood bubbled from his lips. "T-thanks D-Dean. It…it worked."

"Cass, are you okay?" Dean called out worriedly from behind the desk.

"N-No."

"Shit!"

The main demon stepped forward. "I wouldn't be worried about him if I were you. You boys are both in deep. Real deep!"

Suddenly low-level demons from all sides jumped at them, pulling them away from each other. Bobby yelled and cried, throwing a punch or a kick whenever he could. The demons bludgeoned him to the ground.

"Bobby! Bobby!" Dean screamed, also being clouted on heavily.

A demon in the form of a woman took out a wicked looking knife over the old man. Dean's eyes grew wide, fearing for Bobby's life. "BOBBY! NOOOO!" She took the strike…not once, but three times.

"Bobby!" he screamed. "YOU SONS OF BITCHES!"

"Now your turn," the demon bitch turned, wiping off his father's dark hot blood off her jacket. The more he fought, the more demons held him down. The woman approached fast and struck him deep in his side, her devilish eyes shining in triumph, in mirth at her conquest. The knife came out and once more, he felt the white-hot entrance of the sharp steel now in his other side.

Unwillingly he became real quiet. His limbs went slack, the rest of his body growing numb. He'd been stabbed multiple times before, but now…now if felt different. He had nothing left. His strength faded quickly, no longer a threat to his surrounding enemies. The demons dropped him to the floor, where the spread of blood rapidly pooled around his torso. His world was off its axis; the numbness ensnaring everything.

He was dying…again. _Dangn't!_

The main demon rejoiced, clapping his hands together at the work done. "Well done group. Now that we incapacitated our enemies' family…and not the witch," he peered down at the moaning woman on the floor. "We can call to him now. And let's see what he does."

"So we get to kill him now?" a demon asked.

"No. No. No. No. Kill him? No," the head demon shook his head. "If our dear Lord is still residing within his vessel, we'll call out to him. Offer our allegiance, where he'll take us in with open arms, probably reward us for perpetual faithfulness. And once more we'll be the superpower of this world. Now where the hell is that Rawhead?"

A couple of the lower-level demons began heading towards the basement. Everything fell silent…before there was a gigantic blowout. The lights flickered on and off, the entire house quaking beneath their soles. Another explosion occurred, where several of the bookcases and cabinets toppled over, glass shattering abysmally across the ground.

"What the hell is going on?" the main woman demon shouted.

There was coughing and the two lower demons reentered the room, swapping at the smoke that billowed around them.

"Well…what's happened?"

"He's…he's not there," the demon stammered. "The mangy dog the witch sent down there earlier is in pieces. The Winchester boy isn't down there."

"What are you talking about? Then where the hell is he?"

Some of the demons gasped, others taking multiple steps back. The messenger demon yelped pathetically pointing a finger over the black man's shoulder. The main demon stilled then slowly turned around…where he came face-to-face with a very pissed off Sam Winchester.

The demon gulped. "My…my Lord. Is…is that…that you in there?"

Sam continued to glare for a second longer, and then very briefly said, "No." Instantly he raised his hand, and the demonic energy residing within the captive vessel was vanquished, faster than a strike of lightning. Most of the flock of demons jumped back, some of the others fleeing.

Sam strode into the livingroom first eying the surrounding enemy, before casting a glance at Cass. His heart clenched at seeing his friend gazing up at him warily, in fear, and in hope. He looked to the left and saw Bobby, lying on his back, with several stab wounds. A nasty cobra of anger coiled and uncoiled at the sight. He looked to the right and his heart stopped all together.

It was Dean. Lying on his stomach, barely conscious with a pool of blood under him, dying. The cobra inside of him revealed its dangerous fangs, now prepared to strike.

He glowered at his enemy. Nobody messes with his family and lives to tell the tale.

A demon suddenly fell forward onto his knees, begging, pleading to be spared. And that was the trigger. Suddenly filled with molten-hot rage, Sam kicked the low-life away up into the crowd. The sudden hostility set the demons off, their fear leading them to stampede towards him.

He was too quick for any of them. Throwing out several punches and undercuts, kicking, beating, the demons dwindled in numbers, many left sprawled on the ground. Many others resorting to running away, while the remaining few tried to take on the big bad.

The two remaining Rawheads and Skemies also jumped into the fight. Sam, with a wave of his hand, using Lucifer's invested power, demolished the gangly monsters. A Rawhead came up, whereby he immediately put it into a headlock. One great twist and the head came clean off. The other grotesque creature came up from behind. He spun around and crushed its skull in with one hit. It went down like a large Redwood in the California forest.

The demons refused to let up their assault. They surrounded their foe on all sides, some of them using their measly powers in an attempt to pin him down. It didn't work. Sam knelt his head down, closing his eyes, drawing up his power. Looking up, all the demons blasted away from him, draped out over the floor.

He came up and stood over the lot raising his palm. About six or seven of the demons instantly were killed, their bodies arching off the ground as the wave of power hit them.

Others saw what had happened and scrambled to their feet. Sam turned around and raised his hand to them. They were killed off on the spot. The remaining flock all looked up afraid, pleading before they too were eliminated. Sam then rested his gaze on the ceiling, searching the outer perimeter for any other escapees. He caught their presence in mid-getaway. Shutting his eyes again, he concentrated…and one-by-one each of the evil entities were destroyed, their human vessels left as roadside carcasses.

Dean shakily raised his head onto his forearm. He had seen what his brother had done, and it terrified him. Not that Sam was so kick-ass in destroying the army of demonic wimps, but in what it could do to his condition. Last he checked Sam was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

"S-S-Sammy…" he gasped.

Sam slowly turned towards him. He sent a small reassuring smile, to Dean felt so wrong. "It's okay Dean. It's going to be okay. They're gone and you're safe now…"

Something wasn't right. That Dean could feel in the pit of his soul.

"You know I didn't get a chance to do this last time, so I'm doing it now," he gave another one of those wretched smiles, and then to Dean's horror said, "Goodbye."

Dean choked. He raised himself up on his elbows, cringing at the pain brought on. "N-no. No. S-Sammy n-no."

Sam's body suddenly chose that time to buck. He closed his eyes as the rest of his limbs and chest twitched and laggardly convulsed.

To Dean it was like time had slowed, and he was watching the events unfold through slo-mo. Sam pitched to his knees firstly before listing onto his side. His eyes were open, but it was as though he were catatonic again, listless, his spirit like that of a sparrow flying off into the dying sun. A blazing lilac-colored light began to emanate from within his core. His eyes closed whilst his head sloped to the side just as his entire body became enshrouded in Lucifer's burning light.

_Sammy NO!_

**Eh, there I go again! Poor Dean. Poor Sammy. Who will save them now? All right, one more to go. Hope this was to your liking.**

**One thing though. I'm sure the name "arachnae" has been used before, but it sounded cool to me at the time. And yes, that particular creature also is made up. Why spend more time researching when you can just make it up, right? :o Well anyways, I thought it would be rather different to use a sort of smaller version of "Shelob". A spider monster always gave me the creeps. Thanks for reading. The next and final one should be up soon.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Well, here we are guys! The final installment! It's been a long ride. Hope it doesn't disappoint! Cheers!**

**~o(Supernatural)o~  
**

Dean felt sick. And it wasn't the pervasive numbness spreading throughout his body. The burning white-hot light had completely consumed his sibling, the entire room becoming lost in the mass of Angel Prison Break. Weakly he called out Sam's name, but it came out as a mere whisper. He broke inside, his core falling into despair…for he could no longer see his brother's face.

_No!_

His head smacked the dusty floor, his forearm shielding his sight away from the agonizing luminosity. The numbness had spread to his outer extremities and he could feel his body begin to shut down. A certain hum began in his head, an irritable vibrating noise that sometimes you get after a serious hangover.

Soon his vision faded, his world gone silent.

And then he was falling.

Weightless. Disoriented. The last few electrical charges mustered from his brain sparked and fired, and he knew he was inches from death.

He closed his eyes, seeing nothing but the abysmal black void.

Images. Vivid, life-like images stormed through his mind. Depictions of himself. Of Sam. Of his father. Of Bobby. Of the Impala. A perpetual parade of pictures flickering with ludicrous speed like that of a reel tape. Endless.

_Was this the whole life flashing before your eyes as the spiny hands of Death grapples you? Damn, not again!_

The images suddenly morphed into video-like reels. Memories. He saw again when he and his brother were tiny tikes. They were taking a joyride in their father's Impala on the way towards a new hunt and a new home. Sam stashed away another book down into the floorboard, while he, in the front seat, tossed another magazine over his head, the mag and book neatly falling upon a tower of books and magazines.

Sam and he were kids again, and side-by-side were heading into another school. There was a shy, yet exuberantly happy expression permanently etched onto Sam's face, while he had another infamous scowl. They took the steps, leading up to the big archway of paint-chipped double doors. Dean held the door open for his twelve-year-old brother, before disappearing into the education prison.

He was in a motel room with a pillow over his head. Several loud booming shouts and threats echoed on the outside of the Swiss cheese patterned walls. This was the night before Sam left for Stanford. His father and his brother were at loggerheads again, not at all discussing the prospect of Sam's future. His brother made it very clear he was sick of hunting and was leaving the family. Not two minutes later there was the sound of a door slamming.

He was in New Orleans when he received his father's distress call, prompting him to leave for Stanford.

His large size eleven shoe rammed into the apartment's door cracking it open. Sam's screams echoed from the upstairs. He raced into the bedroom where it was all ablaze. Sam reached for the ceiling. But it was of no use…Jessica was already dead. He pulled his brother off the smoking bed and out of the apartment. They left with Sam saying farewell to the life he had always dreamed of.

They both were bloody, exhausted, and on edge. That slate was all wiped clean when at last the large dark silhouette standing creepily by the window turned out to be their missing Father.

John met them at the car window, and the Family was reunited once more in Colorado.

Their Family shattered. The words "Time of Death, 10:41 a.m." echoed like a busted radio-loop in his head.

Sam's lifeless eyes came to a final close. His body, rigid and pale, was lying on the moth-eaten bedspread, so, so still. Cold crept into Dean's bones, the chill of Cold Oaks settling in. He was nauseous. He was hungry. And he was dying on the inside. But that all vanished when he came back into the room and gave his alive and kicking brother an air-squandering hug.

The clock chimed Midnight.

His hands split open. There was no air. His screams died as avalanches of dirt poured into his mouth. His lungs begged for oxygen that was not there. He climbed and kicked, his body falling steadfast back down under. His foot caught on a curvy root, but he could not scream. There was no air.

Spikes of cold cool oxygen hit his fingers first as they burst out of the ground. Next the spikes drove into his chest, as his head popped out like some mutant daisy, his mouth greedily gulping the musty cabbage-smelling draft.

The tests put under by Bobby, and the not-so-happy reunion with Sam.

Volumes of lightning and hurricane winds drove he and Bobby back. Sparks of ashes and glass showered over the both of them. They each took a step back at the advancing enemy. Castiel then spread his wings wide, the dark shadows taking up the entire width of the aluminum shed.

Cass revealed Lilith's plan for Lucifer and the oncoming Apocalypse.

His body flew through the suite's lattice, crashing into the glass table on the lower terrace. Large angry hands wrapped around his throat, bruising his trachea, and cutting off any and all air-flow. The hands relented, and he stared broken-heartedly into the face of his brother. Sam, deep in frustrations and under the spell of the demon bitch Ruby, peered down with hate at his beaten body. The door slammed.

Lucifer was free.

Sam and he went separate ways.

His first meeting with the archangel Raphael.

Back together, he and Sam were finally freed from the TV. Sam walked out of the Impala, safe and whole. He lit up his zippo, throwing it onto the invisible line of Holy Oil, effectively trapping the Trickster. And surprise, surprise, the Trickster was revealed to be the archangel Gabriel.

Cass's burger binge.

The morning was bright. Empty beer cans decorated the headboard and desk surrounding his bed. He stared openly up at the shotgun's barrel pointed at his head. A gun went off and his brother's bloody corpse lied next to him. Deep shock tore through him and a thousand angry vipers were set loose within his gut at the sight. His rampant feelings grew worse at the feel of a hundred plus buckshot pellets ripping his chest to shreds. He woke up and became officially lost along the road to Heaven.

It was he and his brother, together, standing in front of the slowly degenerating man, formerly known as Lucifer. Sam, pumped up on demon blood, effortlessly killed the demons holding them hostage. The finals words spoken and the entire room filled with a deep penetrating light…where Sam became lost forever.

The barren cemetery in Lawrence came into view. His two brothers Sam and Adam pitted against one another by their parasite Angels, about ready to fight and end the world. Then it happened, right before his eyes: Cass and Bobby's last stand, resulting in their vivid and gruesome deaths. Adam was willed away where he made one last attempt to contact Sam. It failed and his brother nearly pummeled him to death.

However, it worked as Sam finally overcame Lucifer's possession before the killer blow was thrown. He saw it through his one eye. Sammy willed back Lucifer and opened the portal of Hell. And in one swift motion, both of his brothers disappeared into the hole, leaving him alone.

He was no longer falling. His feet had hit something hard. Gazing upward, he noticed something real quickly.

Alone.

He looked around. There was no Cass. No Bobby. No Impala. It was just he in the barren wasteland. Beneath his feet was cracked and dry ground. It was hot. Dreadfully hot. All around him the air undulated, like that of hot air rising up from a propane grill. Any minute he was expecting a mirage to form. Then suddenly a crow flew over his head, cawing loudly. _An omen._

This could not be his paradise. If he was dead, then where is his family? Where are his friends? Where's his dream girl? What's happening?

Dean was about to panic. This couldn't be the end. He can't be dying. He can't be alone. Not in death. Not in life. Never!

_NOOOOOO!_

He sank to his knees and scrunched his eyes closed. This couldn't be. He absolutely refused to think that this was his reward after all he endured.

Something hit him in the forehead.

His eyes opened and he found himself under a vast midnight blue sky. Something else hit him again. It was wet. He wiped the slime off with his hand, learning that it was rain. Another drop smacked the top of his head lightly, whereupon he sat up, learning he had been lying on his side in unkempt grass.

Looking around, his heart sank. He was in the cemetery again. Alone. The two tombstones sat in front of him, as though never touched. As if there wasn't some devastating earthquake where the ground opened up and swallowed them whole. He glanced behind his shoulder seeing the Impala parked in the exact spot he had her.

A bit alarmed, he got to his feet, patting down his arms and legs. They felt real. He pinched his side, wincing at the sharp ache it caused. He was awake. So that means…

Has he been asleep this whole time? Was everything he just endured a dream?

_No way!_

He kicked the dirt, the tufts of grass becoming entangled around his leather boot. They felt real. The air was chilly. Tasted salty on his tongue. He looked to the sky again. The thousands of little dots danced and twinkled at him, reminding him that he was merely a floating speck of dust compared to the rest of the universe. As if declaring that he was among the other poorest souls on Earth: why is he so important that he should get what he wants? Like he needed the reminder.

It couldn't have been a dream! Getting Sam back. Cass teleporting him into his sibling's deranged catatonic mind. Bobby's house as the arena for the fight match: _Winchester vs. Satan's helpers_. Everyone dying.

No, it was too real.

He pinched himself again. And sure enough, the area was red and inflamed.

"Oh My God!" he cursed, screaming. "God dammit!"

It couldn't be. Not when it had been so real—felt so real—that he had gotten his brother back. Now for his vision to be taken away. It was unfair!

"Screw you!" he lashed again to the sky and stormed off back to his _baby_- back to his miserable life where he had yet to put back the pieces-back to a life believing his kid brother was rotting in Hell. He opened the door to the Impala, pausing briefly. And for the first time ever, he didn't want to get back into his car.

A large crack suddenly had him turn around.

And then it was as if it were on replay. The ground began to quake. The Impala bounced raggedly off her rims. Lightning struck and the magnificent Cyprus was aflame.

It was the same. And suddenly Dean knew what he had to do.

Instantly he dashed for the graves where once again the ground sunk in, opening up to a hole. He completed a baseball players' slide and dove his hands into the aperture.

A dirty hot hand latched onto his. Pulling with strength that could match Hercules, he tugged and soon the hand became an arm, leading to that of a shoulder and a head. Grimy long hair was in the way, obscuring most of what looked to be his brother's face.

"Come on Sammy. I gotcha. I gotcha," Dean said through clenched teeth.

Most of Sam's upper half slid out onto the patch of grass. He huffed and puffed, his face shrewd in concentration.

"You're good. Come on. Pull yourself up. I've gotcha," he continued to encourage, wrapping an arm around Sam's naked shoulders. He was almost out.

But something wasn't right.

A negative nauseous pang sprouted in his gut. It grew bigger the more Sam struggled to get out of the hole. He looked down and froze, staring at Sam's lower half. His eyes grew wide, his insides screaming in horror.

There was no body, no flesh, nor skin, just charred bones. His lower half consisted of a blackened purple skeletal pelvic region along with long dinosaur-like legs.

Dean's mouth hung open, his jaw-line slick with saliva. _What the Hell? I don't remember this ever happening. _

Sam chuckled.

The nausea Dean felt tripled. It wasn't Sam's laugh. This wasn't his brother.

"What's the matter Dean? Don't like what you see?" Sam said. He lifted his head and Dean bucked back. Sam's eyes glowed wickedly, a shiny florescence he was sure to have seen only on the Twilight Zone.

"Oegh…" Words escaped him.

"That's right," Sam grinned. "I'm back…and now I'm here to take you with me."

And with hair-triggering speed, the monster suddenly lunged for Dean's hand, gripping it tight, and pulled him into the flickering hole.

**The End.**

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

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**_Now come on! Did you really think I'd end it there?_**

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**~o(Supernatural)o~**

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"NO!" Dean screamed awake, his body jackknifing into a sitting position. His eyes were wide, swiveling frantic in their sockets, his mind scattered in all directions. Sweat trickled in rivulets along his clammy skin, soaking into his eyes, making them burn. "Sammy!"

"Easy." A strong hand gently pushed on his chest, guiding him back onto some hard mattress. Instinctively, like that of a child in need of cooing, Dean allowed whomever to do so.

"You were dreaming," the voice said.

_Huh?_

Dean regained his composure and gazed up into the face of Cass. He breathed a sigh of relief. Never in his life had he been so happy to see the nerd. "You're alive!"

He shot up from the bed again, "Oh my God Cass. Lucifer. Lucifer's…He's out," he began to ramble wildly, "He's…he's out. He's back. Sammy…holy shit Sammy. He's gone. Lucifer took him. Shit, Sam! He's dead. Wait! We're dead too! Ohhhh, we're dead! We died! Bobby—"

Cass clamped a hand over his mouth, ceasing his rambling. The angel peered at him with soft eyes. "Easy Dean. You were just dreaming." He let go of his mouth.

Dean shook his head. "No. No, it happened. I saw it happen. We were attacked by…by…everything. Bobby's house is wrecked. Bobby was stabbed. I saw it. Hell, you were stabbed. And Sammy…"

"Is asleep. And if you don't keep your voice down, you're going to wake him up," the Angel informed him.

That struck him. "What?" he turned to where Cass pointed, and there _he_ was. It was Sam lying in the bed next to him on his side sound asleep. "But…" Dean was stumped. "But Lucifer…"

"Is not here. He's still down below where he belongs."

"Bobby…"

"Downstairs cooking."

"But his house?"

"Still the same way it was when we first arrived here."

"Which was—"

"Last night. You've been asleep since then. Only just a few short hours ago you started having nightmares. Nearly woke up the whole house."

Nodding was all Dean could think to do. He couldn't take his eyes off his brother. Sam seemed, well, normal. He wasn't pale and clammy, under the effect of Lucifer's poison. He wasn't having a difficult time breathing. He wasn't catatonic. And he wasn't some partial evil skeleton intent on taking him back to Hell.

He was…well, fine!

Dean unfurled the covers off of his boxer-clad legs and hustled over to his brother's side. He sat down and immediately placed a hand on Sam's head. He was real. He wasn't a figment this time. Sam's deep breaths rose and fell evenly and Dean felt his heart re-inflate.

"He's real Dean." Cass came over and stood in front of the iron foot-stand. "He came back all in one piece, but exhausted. So don't worry too much if he happens to be asleep for a couple of days."

Dean smiled. "Note taken." The angel knew his protectiveness all too well…it was scary!

Cass turned to leave.

"So, all of it?" Dean called out. "All of it was a dream. The monsters. Your buddy Raph? All of it was some friggin' dream?"

"Yes. It was just a dream, I assure you," came the automatic response.

"So…so we're all good now. Nothing's arming up to come after us?"

Cass laughed. "Arming up? Dean, whatever could have given you that idea?"

Dean shrugged, thinking back to what Cass had told him when Sam first popped into his arms. "Huh, but that's something."

"What?"

He tapped his chin. "I could've sworn we put Sam into his own room last night."

Cass pursed his lips and shrugged, continuing on out the door and into the hallway.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

The smell of roasting bacon had already wafted up the staircase. Bobby hummed merrily, adorned in his "Kiss the Cook" apron, cooking away. The happy expression that his boys were home, together, was all too bright to miss.

Strolling past the kitchen, Cass gave the chef a friendly wave exiting out to the front porch. He had to walk fast. The smell was aggravating to his senses.

Outside, the warm summer air hit him like a splash of warm water. It was humid and dry, not at all appealing for vacationers. There was a gentle breeze, but it failed in damping the humidity.

Sitting at the corner of the baby-blue porch, on the first step, was a man. Dressed in a denim jacket and slacks and glasses, the man sat overlooking the Salvage Yard with a peaceful placidity. A tall bottle of Jack Daniels hung in his one of his hands, the bottle barely sipped.

Cass came to the edge of the first step, also staring out into the yard. Quietly, he acknowledged, "Father."

The man scoffed, running a hand through his curly dark locks. "Please Cass…Father's too much. Just call me Chuck."

"Oh right, Chuck?" Cass was hesitant. "You sure came in the nick of time. Forgive me, but I was a bit worried that you might not have shown."

"Don't beat yourself up there Cass. I haven't been too reliable in the past, now haven't I?" Chuck peered up at him through big blue eyes, "But, well, what can I say? Better in the nick of time than no time. Dean wouldn't have liked to see me, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. He believes all that has happened was just a dream. But I guess he wouldn't have minded if some other power" –he slyly glanced down at the measly writer- "was to play."

"Wouldn't we all? You can sit down too. You also had it rough."

The angel did as was told and took a seat on the opposite side of the step. There the two celestial beings continued to admire the several run-down and fragments of rusted metal, observing the work of Nature's mercy.

Eventually Cass asked, "Nobody knows a thing about what happened here?"

"Nope. And that's probably a good thing too."

"And of the witch? Wouldn't she have seen you?"

"Eh, she'll wake up tomorrow feeling pretty _human,_ with, I'm sure, one mother of a hangover_._ But she'll be fine. To her, I'm merely her dream boy," Chuck glanced at him from under his square-rimmed glasses. "Ya did good. Much better than I had originally given you credit for. I know it was hard in having to lie to your friends. It was a bitch, but necessary. Everything came together as planned," he faced the front and muttered, "It always does."

"Still I can't even begin to contemplate had Lucifer freed himself from his human host. Sam held on strong. A lot longer than I imagined anyone could hold on," Cass said.

"That's because that boy is a fighter. Always has been," Chuck placed the bottle down on the step, "That and his brother was with him. Dean, in his own way, does have a knack of persuasion."

Cass laughed. "That he does. Oh," he pulled out the talisman from his pocket. "I think this belongs to you. Just as you said it would, it served a purpose."

"Thanks," Chuck took the golden hilt, and then tapped it on his hand as if something was on his mind. "Cass," he spoke unevenly, "I gotta tell you I grieve for Raphael." And with a flick of the hand, the talisman faded away into the fabric of his denim jacket.

Cass bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry Father. If I had any other choice…"

"I know. I know. You felt that there wasn't a choice, I understand. And I'm sorry that it came down to that. He was lost in his own way. But he's better now. Back where he belongs where others can keep an eye on him. He'll soon come to understand that power isn't everything, and the little guys can always outmatch the Top Guns. I mean seriously, didn't he watch the fight between David and Goliath?" Chuck chuckled. "Hymph, must've slipped his mind."

"So what now?"

Chuck sighed. "Guess it's time to go home. I need to have a little sit-down with Michael and Lucifer. Your brothers and I have a little powwow that is long overdue."

"So they're home now? Back in Heaven?"

"Yes. But do not be troubled. They know well than to dick around. I think they've finally come to that understanding."

"Mind me asking why did you wait so long to pull him out."

"You mean Sam?"

"Yes."

There was another long sigh. "Well, it all came down on Lucifer, I'm afraid. There was a lesson to be learned and he finally learned it. I was against the idea of Sam battling it out for all those centuries, but in the end it was Sam that Lucifer needed. He was the light at the end of Lucifer's dark tunnel. And at long last, he saw that…Besides, I couldn't handle hearing Dean cry like a baby anymore. Had to at least give him a piece of candy, right?"

Cass snorted. "Too right. So…"

"So?"

"The link. The link forged between Lucifer and Sam, it is broken?"

"Yes, it's broken. They are both free of each other."

"What broke it?"

Chuck sent him another sly glance. "I think you're more curious in knowing what created it."

Cass childishly nodded his head.

"Poor Sam. For a long time, he had been badly blinded by his own hatred and anger to really see. Lucifer goaded him and he fell for the trap."

"Did this happen before they fell into the pit?"

"Yes. It happened directly after Sam had committed to Lucifer. They both killed a group of demons. Some of which Sam saw that had been a part of his life. And through his anger, the link was fortified," Chuck cast his eyes down to the steps, as though saddened. But he held his head up high afterward. "But it was broken, once they both accepted one another. And that's where I stepped in."

"I see."

Chuck smiled. "All right. Gotta go now Cass. Unfortunately I have a lot of straightening up to do upstairs. That's what happens when you take a long vacation."

Cass said nothing, watching him rise up off the porch. Chuck turned around and handed him the bottle. "Here give this to you know who. He'll appreciate it this time. And also Cass, just remember there's a lesson in all this."

The angel became puzzled. "What lesson?"

"Eh, I'll let you figure it out. Get some rest. Dean's awake now and crankier than ever, so you're going to need it." He took off, heading down the long gravel driveway, whistling Joan Osborne's _One of Us._ A patch of sunlight broke through the cloudy cover and Chuck was gone.

Cass smirked, feeling the weight of the heavy burden lift from his shoulders. And now he could feel within his heart a new purpose. His mission was over. Except now it was time for a new one. He hadn't the slightest clue of what it could be, but that was part of the grand scheme of things, he supposed. He immediately stood up, whiskey bottle in hand, and went back inside.

**~o(Supernatural)o~**

Lisa's angry voice filled up the entire living room quarters. Dean held the phone as far away from his ear as possible, but the decibels the woman produced could've compared to that of a Ted Nugent concert.

After a couple of weeks, he had put in the call first thing that morning; in hopes of giving the love of his life the message it'll be a few more days. Only now with the way Lisa was driving the stake, he'd doubt if he would be allowed to come back home.

"You know Gary called me at the break of dawn and told me you had been officially let go. No third or fourth chances this time. You know how hard it is to find another mechanics job around here. The next closest place there is about an hour from here! An hour Dean!"

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I really am. I've just had some personal issues…"

"That's all you have Dean, is nothing but personal issues. You know, I can't keep doing this. Worrying if you're going to come home in a drunken state every night, or with blood on your jacket from another fight. I can't. I can't do that to my son."

"It won't happen again, I swear."

"Oh really? How many times have you sworn that to me? And guess what, it keeps happening."

"Lisa…"

"No Dean. I've had enough. You keep obsessing over your brother now and its—"

Dean cut her off quick. "I found Sam."

"What?"

"Yeah, I found him."

"You told me he was dead."

"He was…well, not anymore. Well…it's hard to explain."

"So is he dead, or isn't he?"

"He was dead, but now he's back. It's a miracle—"

"You know Dean, this is what I'm talking about. I can't trust you anymore. You gone so far over the edge, I don't know what to think anymore. First you tell me Sam is dead and now he's not. I don't even know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just say you believe me."

There was a grand minute of total silence on the other end. And Dean knew instantly that this convo was over. "I'm sorry Dean, I don't. Don't bother coming back. If you're not going to be a good, trusting, and hardworking father figure for Ben, then I won't have any of it. I'm sorry. I really am. But this has gotta stop."

"Lisa, I'm…"

"No. Goodbye Dean." And the line went silent.

Dean sighed, placing the phone back on the receiver. Deep down, he knew Lisa would come to that decision. As of late, he really hadn't been the doting father he thought he could be. His mind was in someplace else entirely. Hopefully, and he had his heart set on it, it would change. He loved the family he became so close to. It was the guilt that was driving him mad. But now, that Sam was back, that guilt no longer was present. He could get his life back on track…at least he prayed it would.

Inside the kitchen, two cups of steaming cocoa sat waiting. Taking up the two cups, he brought them outside. On the swing stationed on the porch was his brother, wrapped up in a warm wool blanket, gazing out into the yard. He didn't think Sam would need the blanket, as it being the end of summer, but he looked real comfortable. So Dean said nothing.

There was a lot of metal clanging and racket, followed by a lot of mild cursing. Dean looked and saw the source of Sam's stare: Bobby was working on an old Ford truck. _Ah, no wonder he's having trouble. Nothing beats a Chevy!_

Taking a seat on the opposite side of the swing, Dean handed the cup to his brother, who took it gratefully. He still was a bit pale, exhaustion clear in all of his features. But he knew Sam fought to stay awake. The kid only had been awake maybe a few hours since he came back from the grave.

"You know, I don't remember this bench-swing being here," Sam spoke up.

"S'probably because Bobby recently put it up. I tease him all the time now that he should set up his own garden and contact the agent for the Garden Tours. Good money, I hear."

"Yeah, well, he has changed. I don't think I've seen him yet with his old ballcap."

"Uh huh. I want to say he burned it."

"Everything go okay with Lisa?" Sam asked.

Dean took a sip from the cup, wincing as the scalding liquid burnt his tongue. "Eh, um, yeah. She's cool. Everything's a-okay."

Sam nodded. "I'm sorry Dean. I knew you really liked her."

Dean couldn't help but shake his head. Even back from the dead, his kid brother knew him so well. "Yeah, well, it was good while it lasted, but I knew it wasn't going to last much longer. But that's my usual relationship with most women, I guess."

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You always did have a way of scaring them off," Sam joked.

"Oh ha ha, bitch."

"You totally opened yourself up for that one, jerk."

Dean shrugged. "It's probably true," he took another sip, gingerly lapping the top of his mouth.

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Something I've been wanting to know—"

"No, I don't have Herpes," Dean cut him off.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just kidding. You were saying."

Sam gave a short laugh that developed into a small cough. "Okay…um. It's just, um, just curious…how hard did you try…try to get me out…after I fell in."

"Wow, that was a mouthful. You shouldn't talk too fast Sammy, it can give you colic," Dean countered jokingly.

Sam gave a light punch to his shoulder. "Dick."

Dean laughed. "I know. But uh, to answer your question, uh…I didn't," he looked into Sam's dull eyes and begged forgiveness. "I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't try. After," he roughly swallowed the lump in his throat, "after that…day. I went straight to Lisa's just as you promised."

For a split-second, he was terrified to look back at his brother. Horrified in that his brother might scold him or disown him or something. So it came as a surprise when Sam gave a mighty smile and said, "Good. I'm glad you finally listened to me for once." Sam sighed. And it wasn't a sigh of regret or anger; it was an honest-to-God sigh of relief. Dean felt elated in hearing it.

He leaned further into the wooden benchswing. "Say Sammy, do you have even the slightest clue on how you got out?"

Sam slowly shook his head. "No. I've been thinking about that myself…but then, I haven't been thinking too hard. I'm grateful. What does Cass think?"

"Eh, he says he's looking into it, but not much luck. Though sometimes I get the feeling he already knows."

"Really? And he won't just say."

"Nope. He's a stubborn ass, worse than you sometimes."

Sam let out a weak chuckle. "I don't know about that. I can be a hard ass."

"Can be?" Dean raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "How about 'is'."

Sam agreed, shrugging. "Yeah," and he took a sip.

"Sammy," Dean was a bit hesitant in saying, "I'm going to ask you something, and if you don't want to answer me that's fine, but—"

"You want to know what I faced down there," Sam finished, "Down in Hell."

Dean deadpanned. It was frightening how much his brother really knew him. "Yeah. Or rather how much do you remember?"

"Not much," Sam cocked his head to the side. "But I get the feeling that it was for a very long time. How long have I been gone Dean?"

Dean went quiet, real quiet. He had been contemplating about how best to let Sam know. The blunt way was always an option, but maybe it wasn't the best.

"Dean? How long?" Sam emphasized.

Dean let out a great sigh. Guess it came down to the blunt way. "Three years…well, almost three." He swallowed down the next big lump in his throat. He could tell from the non-response that Sam was a little shocked.

Sam blew out a puff of air, taking another sip from his mug. "Three years. Wow."

"Yeah. And it's been Hell for all of us."

"Tell me about it, Bobby's house is clean for crying out loud!" They both let out a small laugh.

"So you don't remember a thing?"

"No."

"Good, that's good. But let me tell ya Sammy, and it's because I love you. They will come," Sam looked deeply at him, almost in worry. "The memories won't come at first…but they will come. Don't be scared. You know you have me to talk to when they do. Don't forget that."

Sam gave a heart-warming smile. "Thanks Dean, I won't."

And then that was it, they both looked out over the patio, watching Bobby slave away under the bed of metal. Simultaneously the two Winchesters took a deep breath; glad to be out, to be free, glad to be themselves again…glad to be a family again. It had been a long hard road, and for once they could see the end of it.

"So what now?" Sam asked.

"That's a good question."

"No hunting?"

"_No_ hunting," Dean emphasized with pleasure.

"Good answer."

"Tell ya one thing we're doing first."

"What's that?"

Dean smirked, sending him that infamous side-glare that meant he had something really insane on his mind. And very curtly, he said, "Bunny Ranch."

Sam threw back a laugh. "Now we're talking."

…

Little did the boys know that the entire getaway of the _sex on legs affair _was shut down due to several deaths connected to a local haunting.

Let the hunting commence!

**The End…for real!**

**Okey dokey. That's it, Folks! Yeah, the question remains if Chuck actually was the Man Upstairs. But in this, he was! I like to keep it simple…sometimes. Plus, if I had offended anyone about personifying God, the Creator, yada yada, then I apologize. I understand how some people feel about using the Christian God as a character, so I wanted to take that into consideration. No offense was intended.**

**If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!  
**

**Now that we're finally over, it's time to head back to my other story, which there will be an update very shortly. Also, I want to thank everyone who stuck with me for all these infrequent updates. I'm truly sorry for that. Plus I want to give a mighty appreciative thank you for all those who reviewed, favorited, alerted, the whole nine yards. Without you guys, I might not have finished this story. Hope you enjoyed and take care!**

**See ya soon! Tina ;P**


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